Wherever You Are
by Miss Moon River
Summary: AU: Troy and Gabriella grew apart after highschool. Troy now works for the FBI as an undercover agent. When his new assignment puts him working with the mob he runs into the last person he expected to see Gabriella. Is she innocent? Can he save her? TG
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't, nor will I ever own HSM.

Wherever You Are: Chapter One

Troy had been at work barely five minutes when his boss' secretary, Cynthia, breezed through the door without knocking and announced her presence with a loud clearing of her throat.

Troy looked up at her, trying to illustrate his annoyance, but as usual, Cynthia was completely oblivious, and seated herself, crossing her legs and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. His eyes narrowed…she'd been flirting with him for three years now, and Troy wondered when she'd get the message that he really wasn't interested.

He'd rather bone his boss then the oblivious and vacuous Cynthia Wake.

"How can I help you Cynthia?" he asked, deciding to get this over and done with before he truly did lose his sanity and throw her out the window. He idly wondered whether her silicone would bounce.

"Charlie wants to see you. Now," she added in an ominous tone, her eyes growing wide. "Something big is going down, Troy. He just got out of a meeting with Ethan five minutes ago."

Troy's eyebrows rose. Whatever her faults, Cynthia was an excellent source of information. "Ethan? Really?" Ethan was the Assistant Director and only visited the office when big decisions were being made.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Both looked like they were ready for action. Of course, being old and decrepit, they're probably going to send you in to be shot up, which is poetic justice really."

"How is it poetic justice?"

Cynthia had the grace to look a little embarrassed and let her eyes drop to the floor. "I don't know. I just heard the expression once in a film and I've really wanted to use it ever since."

He hid his grin. "Well, Cynthia, poetic justice is actually the fact that your old and decrepit boss is standing behind you in my doorway and just heard everything you said."

To her credit, Cynthia didn't turn around for a few seconds, nor did she blush. She walked sedately out of Troy's office and told her boss she'd, "Get to work on those letters, sir."

Charlie watched her departing with a wry and slightly amused smile, before closing Troy's door behind him and sitting down. His expression became serious and Troy realized something big was about to happen. "So, you have a degree in poetry as well?"

"Hardly, sir. I just have a few brain cells."

"Now, now," his boss mock-admonished, "Cynthia has her good qualities. She makes very good coffee and she's highly efficient." He paused. "So efficient she seems to get all her work done double-time and then gossips to her heart's content. But," he said decisively, "That's not why I'm here."

"I gathered that much," Troy said sarcastically, leaning back in his chair, glad now that he didn't have to finish that report that had been writing for three weeks. "What are you here to talk about?"

"We have a chance to infiltrate Mazio."

Troy expelled his breath. "How did that come about?"

"One of his hitmen wasn't quite good enough, and was shot when Mazio's rival gang, the Del Torio family tried to help themselves to some imports of Mazio's when they arrived at the docks. Pure heroin. Mazio was unimpressed, and he's put word out for a new hitman. He wants someone young, who's single at the moment and hasn't got the sticky attachments of a family."

Troy tilted his head in consideration, already knowing where this conversation was going. "Who's going in?"

"Originally, Jack was. He's just finished up on that Ostjac case."

"Originally?"

"He hasn't had enough experience with undercover work in gangs. He's worked women a lot more. We don't think he'd do a very convincing job and we can't let anything screw this up. We aren't going to take any chances. So, Ethan and I agree that there's only one man around here who has enough experience with gangs to pull this off successfully."

"And that man is?" Troy asked in a cool voice, tapping his pencil on the desk, knowing exactly who that man was.

"You."

* * *

When he arrived home, Isabel was cooking and Troy bit back his expression of growing alarm. How was he supposed to tell Isabel? Sorry, babe, but I've got to go undercover and endanger my life. Yeah, Isabel would just love that one.

Besides which, Troy had wanted to break up with the woman for weeks now, but he just hadn't worked up the courage. All his relationships ended up like this, and much as he knew there was no future for Isabel and him, he didn't want Isabel to be another statistic. Another failed relationship, another step further away from ever finding anyone.

He'd met Isabel at a book shop. She'd been holding the last copy of a book he desperately wanted and he'd approached her with his most charming grin. She hadn't fallen for it, and had archly suggested that they go halves and meet for a dinner in a week so she could give it to him.

Troy had agreed, against his better judgment that he didn't really want to be in a relationship, especially not with a woman who was so forthright and obviously had a need to be in control. After six months, Troy was ready to get out. Yet a selfish part of him wanted her to break it off, wanted her to walk away, so he could believe, albeit briefly, that he hadn't done anything wrong and that the relationship had not been his failure.

"Hey Isabel," he said tiredly, pulling his jacket off and draping it across a chair. He knew it annoyed her when he didn't hang his jackets and pants up, so he did it deliberately. "How are you?"

"Fine," she replied, giving him a kiss. "Dinner's ready."

"You didn't have to do that," he said, whilst undoing his tie and tossing somewhere in the general direction of his room. "I have to go away," he then began, figuring the sooner he got this over and done with the better.

"Where?" She stood as she spoke.

"I can't tell you."

Isabel sighed theatrically. "It's another one of those things. Christ! Why do you have to go undercover?"

Troy raised his eyebrows. "It's my job Isabel. It's what I do. I'm an FBI agent. I work in the undercover unit. My specialty is how the mob operates. How to slot into a family business…is any of this ringing bells? I seem to recall telling you on about the third date."

Isabel's expression grew hard and she crossed her arms. "Don't talk to me like that. You know what I mean."

"Do I?" he asked. "If you don't respect my job, then I have to wonder Isabel, whether you respect me."

She narrowed her blue eyes. "I don't have to listen to this, but I'm sick of knowing that your job comes first; knowing that you place your work before our relationship. If you go, if you leave, I'm telling you right now, we're not going to have a future. I will end it."

And now that the question had arrived, now that he had the option out, Troy did, like he always did. He recoiled and tried to apologize. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "I'm sorry Gabriella."

Well that did it. A simple slip of the tongue and Isabel was off. "Gabriella? Who the hell is Gabriella? Huh? Tell me Troy, who is Gabriella? Better yet, don't answer, I don't want to know. She's probably some cheap floozy you met on one of your assignments."

"Isabel…" he interrupted.

"Don't you Isabel me."

"Look…Gabriella is just an old friend. I haven't seen her for years and years, but I'm tired, and sometimes you look a bit like her, when I'm not concentrating. It was a slip of the tongue. I didn't mean it."

Isabel stormed into the kitchen and started banging plates around. "Nice save there. But not quite good enough. I don't believe you for one second."

"It's true," he persisted quietly. "Isabel…you have to believe me."

She slammed the pasta sauce into the single bowl. "Here's your dinner, and frankly, I don't believe anything you say anymore. I'm leaving. Don't call me."

Isabel left within seconds. Troy stood where he was for a few minutes, then he collected his dinner, sat down on his couch and ate in complete silence.

* * *

Parking his car and getting out, he looked up at the building and checked the address. He was in the right place. It was an old building, with ivy growing across the front, making it look idyllic. Three floors high, it was a lovely redbrick, with green awnings and windowsills, and balconies on the second and third floors. The curtains looked expensive, the front garden was well kept and the footpath was swept. The surrounding area was mostly residential, though there were a few businesses that he'd seen as he drove here, taking the opportunity to stake out where he was going to be operating for an unknown amount of time. It was an older area, with classy, heritage buildings built at the turn of the century. He could see the advantages of having the set-up here. It was quiet, unassuming and nobody would suspect anything. He closed his car door with a confident slam, checked his ID and other things and then walked up the steps and knocked on the door, rapping the heavy, imposing brass knocker against the sturdy oak door.

"Who is it?" a guarded voice asked from behind the door.

"It's Tomas. I'm here for the appointment." Those were the words he'd been instructed to say when Mazio had sent him a letter, saying he'd been hired. He hadn't been interviewed, he hadn't given in a resume…his persona had been created, with background information and Mazio had checked it out.

"Come in," the voice said in a begrudging voice. The door creaked open. "I'm Tony."

"Soprano?" Troy asked. His joke didn't crack a smile.

"This way." They went down a narrow hall, passing a flight of stairs, heading towards the back of the building. They passed a formal dinning room and sitting room. There was a conference room that looked out into the side garden path that rang along the house. Turning right at the end of the hall,

Troy took a quick glance left and saw a wide, open kitchen, leading out into a patio garden. They passed closed doors that Troy assumed to be offices, amongst other less savory things. He figured the bedrooms were all upstairs. Finally, at the end of that hall, Tony not-Soprano knocked on the door, three times.

"Come in," called a low voice. Tony pushed the door open almost reverently, and said in a hushed voice, "He's arrived boss."

"Thanks Tony. Get back to the door. By the way, I heard that Michael won his spelling bee, and won the math competition. Seems the boy's got brains."

"Yes sir. I guess so. I'll tell him you said so." Tony backed away, sent Troy a glare and closed the door.

"That one's anal retentive," Troy said, immediately trying to create a persona of individuality. "I'm Tomas."

"I know," Christof Mazio said, swiveling in his chair. He was a short man, with thick dark hair that fell messily about his face today. His voice held a slight Italian accent, but his English was precise. He looked like he'd been up all night, but his power and his presence was unmistakable. Christof controlled the room. He was a man to be reckoned with. He was also part of the Mafia. "Please, sit down Tomas."

Troy did so. "Nice place you've got here."

"Should be. I paid enough for it. And it could be cleaner." Troy wondered what kind of man could kill in cold-blood and then complain about the state of the house he lived in. "Well, Tomas, you have the job."

"Thank you. Will I need to move here?"

"Yes, of course. Do you have your things?"

"They're in the car. I brought everything with me. I thought I'd have to move," Troy confided.

"I'm not paying you to think," Christof snapped. "But it was good thinking. You'll have a bedroom on the third floor. At least the bedrooms in this place are kept clean."

"I suppose your wife takes care of that." It was common knowledge that Christof's wife, Daniella hated her husband with a vengeance and the two barely exchanged any kind of conversation. They'd had one son, who'd died nearly four years ago in a car accident, but whilst he was alive it seemed their relationship had been cordial. After his death, it had completely deteriorated.

"Yes. I suppose she does," Christof eventually replied. Score one for Troy. "For now, go back down the hall to the kitchen. My first man, Petro should be in there eating. He'll tell you everything you need to know."

Troy stood. "Do I get outfitted?" he asked, the question really meaning, would he be given his weaponry.

"Not until you prove yourself," Christof told him, waving his hand imperiously. "Go."

"Yes sir." He opened the door and was confronted by the exact, complete, totally last thing he expected the see.

* * *

AN: I have the entire story written already, so if you want more...review :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 2

"Gabriella, darling, what are you doing here?" Christof's voice picked up, sounding genuinely happy. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"It's Saturday," Gabriella said absently, but her eyes were staring in shock at Troy.

With a flicker of his eyes, he told her not to say or do anything. She could blow everything before he'd even begun. It seemed they still had that connection—that spark because she got the message straight away.

"Oh," Christof replied, sounding a little surprised. "Saturday? I never can keep track of the days." Christof seemed riveted in thought, but realized he hadn't any introductions. "This is Tomas. He's going to be working for me."

"I see." In actual fact, she was as confused as hell. Troy was inches away from her, in a tight black T-shirt and faded jeans, with slightly overgrown hair. His eyes were as blue as she remembered. "I'm pleased to meet you. Tomas," she added as an afterthought.

"This is Gabriella Montez," Christof continued. "She lives here. She's like my daughter."

Troy could feel his liver collapsing, his kidneys melting, and his stomach dropping away from his body. "I see." In actual fact, he was ready to die. Gabriella was standing there, directly in front of him, in a short white dress, long legs brown, her hair piled up on her head, the unique smell of her circling around him, driving him insane.

Unbidden, the image of Isabel rose in his head. He hadn't realized until now how much Isabel looked like Gabriella, even if she didn't come close to Gabriella's casual beauty. He wondered if subconsciously he'd been picking Gabriella look-a-likes for most of his adult life. The thought distracted him and he forced it away.

"Gabriella, love, why don't you take Tomas down to the kitchen? Petro should be down there having breakfast."

"Uh…sure," Gabriella said, a slight weakness in her voice, though only Troy would have noticed it. "Come on Tomas. You get to meet the amazing Petro."

They exited the room and he closed Mazio's office behind him. He leant close towards her. "Gabriella…" he hissed.

"Shut up," she bit back and paraded down the hall.

"Fine," he returned, anger spurring through his body. Troy followed her around the corner into a light, airy kitchen with a large wooden table in the middle of the room, benches around the sides, open-fronted cupboards at head height, and bright, flowering plants on the windowsill. There were reminder notes and messages stuck to the fridge, and a shopping list was written up.

It looked all too homey, and the color, vivacity and domesticity of the room provided disarmed Troy who had stopped in the doorway, taking it in. There were pictures, obviously drawn by a little child pinned up on the walls. The sun came streaming through the windows that overlooked the wall-in back garden.

"What? Never seen a kitchen before?"

Sitting on the table, beside the window was a giant of a man. The deep voice was the first hint to his size, but Troy nearly wet himself when he saw him and that was saying a lot. Easily 6 foot 8, his hands dwarfed the sandwich he was eating. The well-built body was broad and long, and as he jumped off the bench and headed towards Troy, the man's muscles rippled and flexed. Dressed in head to toe in black, and moving with deadly grace, not at all hindered by his size, the man made a formidable effect. He screamed dangerous.

Troy swallowed.

"Yes," he replied. "But this place is cleaner then I expected."

"Christof likes a clean house."

"So he tells me," Troy said dryly. "You must be Petro." Troy held out his hand with consternation, but after a vigorous shake, his limb was returned to him without any serious damage. He wouldn't have any feeling in the hand for the next month, but he would keep it.

"And you must be Tomas," Petro said. "Would you like something to eat?" Troy shook his head. "You sure? I make a great baloney sandwich."

"If there's baloney going then I'll have one."

"You want one, Ella?" Petro tousled Gabriella's hair as he passed, mussing it up.

"Thank you Petro," she said sarcastically, "But I can live without your famous baloney sandwich. Is Daniella still asleep?"

Petro, with his head in the fridge, snorted. The sound echoed. "It's only eleven o'clock. Her majesty won't rise until at least two, and then she'll demand lunch."

Another person entered the room, quietly, unobtrusively. "Who are you kidding Petro?" the new voice said. "You know who'll end up making her majesty's lunch."

The new speaker was a smaller version of Christof, only his features were softer. The voice was lyrical, and the young man, obviously about the same age as Gabriella and Troy, moved with style and economy. He was very confident of his power in the house.  
But nothing about the man said danger. His air seemed to say imposter, instead.

"You are her nephew," Petro pointed out, closing the fridge with his foot and Troy realized who the young man was.

Elvis Mazio was the eldest and only child of Christof's sister, Olivia Mazio. Olivia, who was four years younger then her brother, had been poisoned shortly after giving birth to Elvis and there was no doubt that Olivia's husband, Victor had done it. In retaliation, Christof had killed his brother-in-law and raised his nephew.

It was most likely that Elvis would succeed his uncle in the business, now that Christof's son Carlos was dead, and from the few remarks he'd just heard, it was obvious Elvis was playing the good son and looking after his demanding aunt.

"You're her cousin," Elvis replied with a grin.

"No, I'm Christof's cousin. That's something altogether different. Mayonnaise?" Petro asked Troy.

"Sure," Troy answered. "I'm Tomas," he informed Elvis, holding out his hand. They shook hands, Troy coming out with the firmer shake.

"I'm Elvis. It's good to finally have someone new."

From the way they were talking, it seemed Gabriella, who was looking out the window, didn't really know what these people around her did for a living. Troy could feel questions mounting and he desperately wanted to get Gabriella on her own.

Petro handed him his sandwich and looked him in the eye. "This afternoon we'll go through everything you need to know. I've got a job tonight that you can come on. Okay? Then we'll see how good you are."

Troy shrugged and swallowed. "This is a damn good sandwich."

"Oh, I know. I'll be back down here at one o'clock. I expect you to be ready. In the meantime, why don't you get Elvis or Ella to give you the tour?" Petro disappeared down the hallway towards Mazio's office, but then opened up one of the doors along the hallway. His office was the one closest to Christof, and Troy made note of that.

Turning back to Elvis and Gabriella, he found them staring out the window, standing very close together. He wondered at the nature of their relationship and found himself entertaining a collection of morbid ideas that made him clench his fist, while at the same time surprised by the force of jealousy behind his reaction.

It occurred to him that he was staring daggers at Elvis and he cleared his mind and decided to get his mind off it and ask some questions.

"Who did the pictures?" Troy asked, and both turned around to look at him in confusion, Gabriella's brown eyes cloudy. "The pictures on the wall. The ones that weren't done by Van Gogh." Elvis smiled, Gabriella didn't.

"Sophia," Gabriella replied shortly.

"Well," Troy continued, "That would be great if I knew who Sophia was. I assume you're not talking about Sophia Loren."

Elvis laughed and earned himself one of Gabriella's withering glares. "It was funny," he defended himself. "Sophia is Petro's little girl. A couple of guys have kids. Tony has three."

"Tony?" Troy didn't believe it.

"I see you've met him," Elvis deduced. "He married one of my cousins…one of Daniella's nieces."

"All in the family," Troy noted.

"Yes," Elvis said, shooting Gabriella a strange glance. The look, however, seemed to slide right off Gabriella, who continued to look out the window, focused on something outside. Her face was soft.

"Must be something interesting out there," Troy said, and came to stand on Gabriella's right. Their hips brushed, and she jumped back as if scorched.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head.

Outside, seated closely together near a cluster of magnificent rose bushes, were two men Troy hadn't yet met. Playing on the grass, under a tall elm tree was young boy and girl. "That's Sophie?" he asked.

"Yes," Gabriella answered softly. "Petro's wife, Laura is away, so we're all keeping an eye out for her. The young boy is one of Tony's sons—Michael. The other two, Benito and his daughter Allegra are upstairs. Their mother, Tony's wife, Marissa—Elvis' cousin—died almost a year ago."

Troy condensed these new names. No matter how unimportant wives and children seemed, he needed to know and remember anything and everything he was told or learnt.

"What about the men?" he asked.

Elvis spoke up as Sophia screeched with laughter. "The one on the left, the short one is one of Daniella's nephews, Al, and the other one is Roberto, Petro's younger brother."

Al was indeed short, but he looked lithe and athletic, which probably meant he was one of the other hitmen. Petro, Troy knew for a fact, only ran things; he didn't actually do any killing anymore. Roberto, of average height with red hair and peaceable features, also had the alertness of a trained killer, but he was keeping a very close and doting eye on the children. Al paid them no attention whatsoever.

"And that's everybody?" Troy hoped it was. Anymore, and he'd have to start drawing up a family tree. There were brothers and nephews and people's cousins and inter-marrying…and his head was spinning.

"Other people drop by and stay for a little while. But that's all the permanents. And you…and Gabriella of course," Elvis replied. "Little Ella-Bella."

Gabriella stood back from the window. "I think I'll go and get Sophia and Michael. I promised to take them down the street before lunch. I have some shopping to do."

Elvis shot her a look. "Did you check with Petro?"

"Yes," she said patiently. She slipped through the back door. Troy watched her, while pretending he was concentrating on his sandwich. She stood at the bottom of the stairs leading down to the garden. "Sophie! Michael! Come on, let's go down the street."

They raced towards her, Sophia on her little legs nearly tripping a few times. Michael reached her first, twining his arms around her waist, while Sophia held her arms up. Gabriella picked her up and held her tightly and Sophia giggled with delight.

"Daniella has a lot of nieces and nephews," Troy pointed out, finishing off his sandwich.

"She had three brothers and four sisters. All of them are dead now."

That wasn't so unusual, though it struck Troy that out of eight children, only Daniella had survived. "The other nephews don't work here?"

"No. Only Al, Marissa and I are here, well, Marissa's not anymore. Al and Marissa were twins. Their little sister did live here, but she's away at college right now. She'll be back next week—Isabel."

Troy's shock hit him like a ton of bricks, before reality hit him and he calmly realized his Isabel was far out of college and not a Mazio.

"Full house."

"Yes. It's nice to be surrounded by family." But Elvis' undertone revealed that he didn't really think it was that great.

"My old boss," Troy began to cultivate the lie, "Used to have his entire family under the roof. He had no brothers…he killed them all, but he had eight sisters and they were all married and they had thousands of children. I was the only one who wasn't family. Sometimes a little space isn't a bad thing."

"Mmm," Elvis agreed, with longing in his eyes. "Nobody to check up on you all the time." Then Elvis narrowed his eyes at Troy. "You don't look Italian…only around the eyes a little."

"My mother wasn't Italian. She was an all-American girl, who fell in love with my father's brooding European looks. I look like her, not my father."

Elvis continued to look at him suspiciously. "What happened to your family? Surely you must have worked for them at one time."

Troy began the story he was told by the FBI. "That's where I learnt everything I know. My uncle was in charge; but he made the stupid mistake of not getting rid of his brothers. So, my father, who wanted a little control, tried to grab power. He failed and the whole thing escalated into a family war."

Elvis winced. "Oh dear."

"Yeah. Three of my cousins, two of my aunts and I survived. That was it. Everyone else was killed. My mother, the rest of my aunts…all as pawns, until my father and my uncle killed each other."

"I'm sorry."

Troy feigned indifference. "I'm not. My uncle should never have let my father live. It's callous, but it's business."

"That's right." Elvis broke out with a smile. "You'll fit in just fine here. Come on, I'll show you around the house."

Troy trailed Elvis up a broad, winding staircase. Troy was impressed by the whole house: the high ceilings, the beautiful art on the walls, the cheerful colors, the large windows, and the quiet, unassuming air of wealth and prosperity. The front rooms were formal enough to overawe people, but the communal spaces were practical and comfortable.

He was willing to bet Daniella was a woman with taste. At the top of the landing was a set of double doors, thrown wide open. The room looked large and full of light.

"The nursery," Elvis said with indifference. The sound of children playing and shrieking floated out the door made the place sound almost normal.

"They sleep there?" he asked, wanting to make sure.

Elvis nodded. "The children have their bedrooms off the nursery. Her Majesty is down the hall there, to the left. All those rooms in that wing are hers. Laura has a room there. Marissa did, and Isabel's are being readied for her."

"I bet Daniella likes being right next to the nursery."

"About as much as she likes Christof," Elvis surmised. "Christof and, Tony and Petro's room are in the opposite wing."

Troy looked briefly in that direction. It wasn't unusual for the boss and his henchmen to have their rooms together, nor was it unusual the wives to have a separate bedroom. Most men and women slept apart in the houses, simply because the men were always coming in late from different jobs. Also, because many couples were married for convenience and thus the wives had nothing in common with their husbands.

The women tended to band together – as did the men. Elvis' title for his aunt – her Majesty – was an apt one. Women often had the running of the houses. They were the mothers of the boys; they were the demanding and hellish wives who knew enough to get their husbands in trouble. In fact, most knew far more then they let on. Troy had yet to meet the women of this house but their aura was certainly around. The house was clean, and there were fresh flowers. The gardens were beautiful and somebody obviously had the green thumb.

"Where's Petro's wife Laura? Gabriella said she was away?" Troy looked at Elvis as he asked the question.

"She's just away," was the short answer and Troy immediately knew something was going on there. The staircase continued to wind its way up to third floor. Troy followed Elvis, already putting the plan of the house in his head, organizing it for future reference.

"Well…" Elvis said as they reached the top of the stairs. "This is where you Gabriella and I are." Troy looked around. Again, they were in an open area, but there was a television and a desk, with books strewn all over it. He immediately recognized the desk as Gabriella's. Leading off from the room were a number of doors. One was open at the far end of the open living area, revealing a bathroom. Next door to that were glass doors that led out onto the balcony that Troy had spied outside when he arrived. The rest were presumably bedrooms.

"That's my room," Elvis gestured to his right. "That's Gabriella's room…" and he gestured to the door furthest from the head of the stairs. "And your room is in the middle." His room was the closest door to the stairs.

"Thank you," Troy said, opening his door. "Looks fine. I better get my things. Then I'll go downstairs and meet Petro. Unless…are we having lunch first?"

Elvis nodded. "We always have lunch together on Saturday's and dinner together on Sunday nights. I'll help you with your things and show you the dinning room on the way it."

"Sounds good to me."

And now, Troy thought, begins the hard work: to bring down the Mazio's from the inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 3

Troy sat down to lunch and cursed the bad luck that had him sitting next to Gabriella. He would have preferred the menacing Roberto or the surly Al, rather then Gabriella, who had Sophia on her lap. Christof, at the head of the table cleared his throat, and everyone bowed their heads. Troy belatedly realized they were saying grace but managed to cover.

"Dear Lord," Christof began, "We'd like to thank you for this food we are about to receive. May you bless us in our endeavors over the next few weeks, and may your compassion extend to Tomas who has recently arrived among us. We thank you for taking care of our beloved Marissa in Heaven, and may you be with our Laura in her time of need."

"Amen," everyone murmured, including Troy, though he nearly choked on the word. Prayer, God, Jesus, the bible and faith had never really been his thing, though he'd always been fascinated by Noah's Ark.

The table broke out in loud chattering. Food was passed from person to person and all of it smelled delicious. As far as Troy could work out, Daniella and Gabriella had made lunch whilst he'd been unpacking. The children, seated by Christof, clamored for their grandfather's attention, whilst Daniella, at the opposite end of the table, starting complaining to Elvis and Roberto about Victoria Del Torio. Victoria was part of a rival family. All of that information had been on the file Troy had been forced to memorize last week.

"She's the most irritating woman I've ever met." Roberto and Elvis exchanged an amused glance, whilst Daniella went on. "She parades up to me yesterday whilst I'm having my hair done and has the gall to ask me what color dye I use, because her grandmother is finally going gray.

"I nearly ripped her eyelashes off one by one, but remembered that it would not do for anybody to see us warring, and I wouldn't take myself down to the level of cheap trash. She thinks she has the right to be disrespectful to me, just because she managed to wrangle control of that family."

Troy looked up suddenly. That hadn't been in his file. "Excuse me? You said Victoria was in charge? A woman?"

Daniella nodded. "You must be Tomas."

"Yes. Pleased to meet you Mrs. Mazio."

She rolled her fine violet eyes. "Please, call me Daniella. I'd rather forget that Mazio is my last name." At the other end of the table, Christof looked vaguely amused. He hadn't missed a thing.

"How did a woman manage to gain control?" Troy asked, genuinely interested. It was one of the unlikeliest things he'd ever heard of; women were regarded as domestic objects to make the lunch, to procreate, and go to parties with. Other then that, they were ceded no control at all.

Daniella put her fork down. "She got rid of her father, and then told her uncles and her cousins that if they didn't follow her, she'd let them swim. The woman is unstoppable. I can't stand her," Daniella finished viciously, before returning to her lunch.

Beside him, Gabriella was feeding Sophia. "Come on Sophie…you have to eat. And you like Grandma's macaroni and cheese."

"No, I don't," Sophie replied in an adamant tone. "I hate it. It's yucky."

"Sophie…" Gabriella warned, but she was beginning to loose her patience.

Troy grinned at the little girl, earning a shy smile in return. "Hey Sophie," he said, gaining the girl's attention. "I'm Tomas."

"Hello Tomas," she said gravely. "Can I call you Tommy?"

Troy shrugged. "If you want. But, if you aren't going to have your macaroni and cheese, can I have it? Please?"

Her eyes lit up. "No! It's mine. Don't you dare!"

"Then you better eat it," he replied, "Before I steal it. Go on, hurry, I'm coming to get it…" Troy pretended to leer towards her bowl and she shrieked and madly began eating. Troy returned to his food.

"Thank you," said a quiet voice by his ear; Gabriella could still send shivers up and down his spine. "Thank you, Tomas." The slight questioning tone on the last word wasn't lost on him.

"Did you get your shopping done?" Their conversation was attracting a little attention, but Troy ignored it.

"Yes, thank you," Gabriella replied coolly. "Did you find your bedroom alright? I'm afraid the place was in a bit of a mess."

"I don't mind," he said honestly. "It made me feel right at home."

"So glad," Gabriella said, but there were volumes being spoken in her words that nobody else was picking up.

"Finished," Sophie announced, and without any ceremony, she stood up and climbed across Gabriella till she was seated on Troy's lap. "I like you Tommy."

"I like you too." But he was looking across Sophie's head at Gabriella.

* * *

His afternoon session with Petro didn't give him any new information, nor did it turn up any surprises. The system in this house was like any other. Don't ask what the boss does or why he wants things done, just do it. Hate the Del Torios with a vengeance and keep your nose out of any business that isn't yours. Don't get too close to anything, fall in love with the right woman, don't snort anything, don't steal anything from the boss, and never, ever act above your position.

Troy's file on Mazio, which he had painstakingly memorized, meant that he had certain advantages. Troy knew that Mazio had a hand in the local government and the local business community. He laundered money, ran real estate scams, owned a few brothels, had factories that used slave labor, ran a sideline of drugs, and was involved in insurance scams up to his eyeballs. He had evaded tax for years, rigged elections and made a sizable contribution to keeping the organized crime population of Boston down.  
Instead, Petro told him that the boss did business, that the business was secret, and that at all costs the boss must be protected. It was pretty standard fare, but then Petro took him to meet Al and Roberto.

The two men had come in for lunch and hadn't spoken a word, and listened to his conversation with Gabriella and Sophie before going back outside again. He got the impression that they were the strategists. They organized logistics and planned, and made future projections. They were the most hands-on businessmen of the family. Christof would have removed himself from the dirty work of handling drugs, brothels and other illegal businesses long ago.

"Roberto," Petro said, looking down at his brother. "This is Tomas. Tomas, this is my no-good brother Roberto."

"Thank you," Roberto said dryly, and returned to Al. "So, you agree with me? That's how it will happen?"

Al snorted. "You're always trying to avoid death Roberto. We kill people in our line of business."

Robert sighed; this was obviously a well-known and much rehearsed argument. "But I don't like unnecessary deaths. I find them repulsive. We have to have some standards. We are better than the thieving scum out there, who kill not only for the pleasure and satisfaction, but also for distinction. We are better then that. We are businessmen."

"Roberto," Petro said quietly. "That's enough. I'd like you to discuss tonight with Tomas."

Al looked up at him finally, appraising him in once glance. "We've already made our plans."

"Then you need to tell him what they are," Petro said, unruffled.

"There's no room for him."

"Make room for him." The tone of voice was unmistakable. Make room, or I will get rid of you and make some room. Comprende?

"Fine," was the short and surly answer.

* * *

After being told that he would be the guard tonight, and after going through the plans eighteen million times, Troy had a grudging respect for Al, who was certainly meticulous. Roberto was a hothead, but Al was very cool, very shifty and definitely someone he'd think twice of before crossing.

By the time they were done it was seven o'clock and he was absolutely starving. They were leaving at eight thirty, so he had enough time to get a crash course in the kitchen with Elvis and learn where everything was.

Troy was stacking his dirty dish in the dishwasher when somebody tugged at the hem of his trousers. Looking down in surprise, suspecting to see some kind of animal, Troy saw the redheaded cherub, Sophie, in her pajamas. Her face shone with cleanliness. She was obviously ready for bed.

"Hello Sophie," he greeted her, whilst she continued to tug at his pants. "You can stop that now."

"Up," she demanded, holding out her arms. Troy complied and picked her up, balancing her on his hip. Petro and Christof walked into the kitchen at that moment and stared at Troy and Sophie, stopping in mid-conversation.

"I'm just taking her upstairs," Troy said. "She shouldn't be down here. Come along Sophie, let's go find Montez."

"Everyone calls her Gabriella," Christof said as Troy walked past.

"Yeah, but she really hates being called Montez," Troy said without thinking about it. "Or so I would imagine," he added and disappeared. God. He hadn't realized how hard this part of the mission was going to be.

He'd last seen Gabriella when he was eighteen years old, the day before he left to go to Virginia, and after all that time, it was no surprise that things were awkward. But to meet her like this, under these circumstances was a hundred times worse.

When going on undercover mission, the Bureau made very sure that there was absolutely no way any of their agents would bump into somebody they knew. It was checked and double-checked and triple-checked, because the risk of knowing somebody whilst undercover could mean jeopardizing the entire mission.

No kind of lie, no kind of character could be maintained, if the agent knew somebody personally. It meant losing objectivity and focus. It meant losing character and making stupid mistakes. These risks were too dangerous to make, but Troy could feel himself beginning to make them.

Even in the middle of organizing tonight, Troy still wasn't concentrating. He had his mind on Gabriella. Her long legs and hair, her startled brown eyes, her soft hands, and the expression of utter contentment when she'd picked Sophie up before lunch. These were all images distracting him, and Troy could already see the danger signs. Especially in a house with everybody living together, with his boss and everyone else under the one roof, Troy couldn't afford to screw up.

Reaching the head of the stairs, he swapped Sophie to the other hip. "Will Gabriella be in here?" he asked her in a suspenseful tone, walking through the open double doors into the nursery. The place was strewn with toys, a dollhouse, a desk, a painting easel, a blackboard, a bookcase, and there were pictures all over the wall. Some – mostly the ones with blobs of paint and marker – he recognized as Sophie's, but a few had obviously been drawn by older children, and others he knew were Gabriella's work.

One at the far end of the room had been painted onto canvas and framed; it was a baby. "Who's that?" Troy pointed to the picture.

"It's Allegra," said a cool voice from one of the open doorways. "There you are, Sophie. I was wondering where you'd gone."

"I went to find Tommy," Sophie said, and Troy went to put her down, but she held on tightly. "Read me a story Tommy."

"Which one?" he asked, looking around for a seat. There was a red antique seat, looking out the window, over the street, with a pile of books next to it.

"The Cat in the Hat," Sophie told him, whilst Troy made himself comfortable in the chair and settled Sophie in his lap.

"I knew a girl once who loved that book." Troy looked directly at Gabriella when he said it. "She used to make me read it to her over and over and over again, because I had memorized it."

Five minutes later, when he was halfway through the book, Sophie's even breathing informed him that she was asleep. Troy let his voice dwindle to a whisper before stopping and putting the book down. Lifting her up, he raised his eyebrows at Gabriella in silent question and she led him to one of the bedrooms. Troy placed Sophie in the cot and pulled the blankets up over her.

"Goodnight," he said and disappeared back into the nursery. Gabriella came out a few minutes later. "What's the time?" he asked.

"Eight o'clock," Gabriella informed him, as she began to tidy up the room.

"Where are Michael, Benito and Allegra?" The quietness of the nursery was the giveaway that they weren't here.

"Tony took Michael and Benito out for dinner. He does that sometimes. Allegra's already asleep. Ever since Marissa died…" Gabriella petered off.

"How did she die?"

Gabriella sat down in the red chair and Troy sat down in the chair beside it. "She was giving birth to Allegra, when the lining of her uterus ripped and her blood and Allegra's mixed. Marissa died almost immediately, though the doctors managed to save Allegra."

"You did the picture just after she was born."

Gabriella nodded. "Marissa died a few months ago. Tony takes good care of the Michael and Benito, but responsibility for Allegra falls to Daniella and me. Men aren't good with babies." Gabriella looked at him then. "Excluding present company."

Troy smiled. "Well, not really. My skills stop at re-enacting Disney movies and reading stories."

"That's not true," she contradicted. "Whenever I'd babysit Alex you were great with him."

"Thank you. How is he?"

Gabriella tilted her head and her green eyes clouded over. "He's okay. I don't get to see him a lot. I been home in a long time."

"Oh." Troy tried to keep his voice neutral, whilst fishing for the rest of the story.

"It's a long story," Gabriella said, in a voice that also told him she wasn't going to discuss it.

So far, they had avoided talking about anything that actually meant something, but Troy could see it coming. "How did you get involved here?"

Gabriella's face immediately closed over. "That doesn't matter. What are you doing here…Tomas?"

Troy shrugged evasively. He wasn't prepared to reveal anything, unwilling to compromise his position. He didn't actually know if Gabriella knew what Mazio did for a living; just because she pretended she didn't meant nothing. Gabriella had always been highly intelligent, and though Petro and Christof might have avoided discussing things around her, she may have picked it all up.

"I'm working for Christof."

"And what about the name?"

"It's a long story," he replied, returning her words. God, he wished he come right out and ask her if she knew that Christof Mazio, who treated her like a daughter, was a criminal. Or kiss her, he couldn't make up his mind which was more important.

There was a knock on the door and Elvis poked his head around. "There you are. Petro asked me to tell you that you need to be down there in ten minutes. They're leaving a little early."

"Thank you," Troy said, expecting Elvis to disappear, but he moved into the room.

"Gabriella, we still on for tonight?"

Gabriella rose. "I have to get changed. Give me fifteen minutes, and I'll tell Daniella that we're going out."

Elvis nodded and left. Troy had a million questions he wanted to ask about the exchange he had just witnessed, but he was hinged in by his job, by his own mission. He was also so jealous he couldn't see straight about the idea that Gabriella might be going out with somebody else.

"Good night," Gabriella spoke to him softly and turned right, heading for Daniella's room. Minutes later, she walked back across his line of view and slowly went up the stairs to the third floor.

Troy stood, and just as he was walking out of the nursery, Daniella came sweeping in.

"Tomas," she greeted him imperiously. "Have a good night. And come and visit me tomorrow morning at about eight-thirty. I'll be in my sitting room. We should get to know each other now that you're living under my roof."

Troy inclined his head. "I would be honored," he said, backing out the door. "I shall see you tomorrow."

* * *

Three and a half-hours later, Troy trudged up the two flights of stairs, opened his bedroom door and flopped down onto the bed. Starring up at the ceiling, he began to wonder why he had ever decided to become an FBI agent. He could be living in Albuquerque flipping burgers for a living, married to a blonde cheerleader with 2.3 perfect children.

The above option would have been better then waiting in the cold, listening to the disgusting sound of somebody being beaten up, all under the premise of an undercover investigation. There were many, many advantages to a desk-job and Troy was suddenly wishing he was stuck back in Washington, doing the report he'd been avoiding.

Roberto had driven them through back streets and alleys until they came to a meat packing plant. Troy couldn't quite see what they'd be doing out here, but Roberto had tossed him a gun, with a terse "head's up", and they'd entered the building. Al and Roberto had moved craftily amongst the silent machinery, until they came to a metal door.

"Stay here," Al whispered. Troy drew his gun and let the darkness swallow Roberto and Al up, as they opened the door and entered. Their victim was surprised and there was a short muffled conversation, before somebody fell to the ground. Troy could hear bone crunching, the sickening sound of a fist hitting skin, and the pained grunting. Then silence.

Minutes later, Al and Roberto returned, wiping their hands, and Troy guessed that they hadn't been the one moaning and coughing up a kidney seconds ago. Having heard no gun shot though, Troy figured they'd just been there to rough him up a little.

"Who is he?" Troy had asked, not really expecting an answer.

Al had looked at him, and for a brief second, Troy knew that Al wasn't a bad guy and that he really hated his job.

The little man shrugged. "He's a courier. He picks up and drops off. A few months ago, he started getting curious and started looking in bags. When he discovered there was money, he started skimming. Two weeks ago, one of our contacts started complaining that we were cheating him. We traced the missing money here."

"I'm guessing he won't be doing any more deliveries."

"You guess right."

"Let's go," Roberto had interrupted calmly. "No problems?"

Troy shook his head, figuring it was over with and they would be returning home. Instead, they'd taken a little detour and this time Troy had seen everything first hand.

They'd arrived at a coffee shop and gone through the back entrance, Roberto jimmying the lock with expertise. An older-looking man was asleep at the counter, resting his head in his books, looking sadly peaceful and vulnerable. Roberto calmly pushed him off his chair, onto the floor, and then had sent the objects on the counter flying.

"You owe us money," Al said in a soft voice, with a gun held to the guy's head, standing over him with a menacing look. "Twenty grand to be exact. Either you pay, or you get to go visit with God. Which would be an honor."

The guy made some desperate squeaking sounds.

"Now, now," Roberto said, sauntering around the prone body. "You wouldn't something to happen to this place. It's nice. You're doing good business. But I got this friend Harlan, he works for people like us…contracts out to anyone. I'm telling you this so you get the full picture.

"So…Harlan…if I ask him, he'll do anything for a bit of money. And my boss…well you know Christof. He's got money lying around everywhere. Course, he ain't got your money, but that'll be fixed soon.

"Harlan has got one weakness. Fires…he loves to light fires, plant bombs…he gets a real kick out of it. I could ask Harlan, my good friend and he might just be persuaded to get rid of this place. That would be sad wouldn't it?"

Roberto arrived at the guy's head, and kicked him. "Wouldn't it?"

"I'll pay," said the guy in a very weak voice.

"You stink," Al said in disgust. "Tomas…be glad you ain't over here. It smells something awful. Come on, let's go. You got till next Wednesday when we come to collect. Otherwise, we're going to be paying Harlan a visit."

The guy sat up as Al and Roberto made their way over to Troy. "What happens if I can't pay?" he asked in a desperate voice.

Al looked at Troy with a gleam in his eye. "Tomas, what do you think will happen if he doesn't pay?" He posed the question like he was asking about the weather.

Troy shrugged and hopped he looked nonchalant instead of revolted. "I'll have to break some knees. But I don't mind that. I have a whole box full of kneecaps. Or…well…you could find yourself paying that debt off in other ways."

Al grinned wolfishly. "You're a genius, Tomas. I've got all kinds of deliveries that I wouldn't mind farming out. Especially now that we just lost one of our couriers. Damn smart idea. I'll think that one over."

They left and finally returned home. Roberto and Al disappeared to their rooms on the second floor without another word and Troy was now lying on his bed, seriously considering the merits of throwing himself out of his window.

He couldn't really be bothered though, so instead he thought he'd just lie here for a little while and look at the ceiling. He figured he was the only one not asleep, but as he began to pull his clothes off, he heard voices coming up the stairs. Realizing it was Elvis and Gabriella, Troy opened his door a crack so he could eavesdrop.

"Thank you for a nice night," Gabriella was saying. She was wearing a dark blue dress with long sleeves and a round neck. She had a single strand of pearls about her neck, and there were matching earrings. Christof kept his family well dressed and adorned.

"My pleasure," Elvis said in a charming, suave voice. He didn't look so bad himself, in an expensive suit. Troy hadn't had time to process his thoughts about Elvis and Gabriella. To start with, he didn't really have a clue what they really were…lovers, friends, something more, something less. Family, brother and sister…Troy didn't know.

He did know that their dinner had the distinct feeling of a date and he also knew that Elvis wasn't really the kind of guy Troy would have picked for Gabriella. Of course, he wasn't sure there was a male on the face of the Earth that he thought would suit her.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Gabriella said with some finality, heading for her bedroom.

"Wait a minute," Elvis said in a wheedling tone. "We haven't gone through the exciting end-of-date dilemma of, 'Will he kiss me, should I kiss him, do we just drop our clothes and go at it right here'."

"I'll solve that dilemma then," Gabriella said in a cool voice that Troy recognized as her most dangerous. "We'll do none of the above. Goodnight Elvis."

"You can't hold out on me forever," Elvis said in a foreboding voice, reaching out and grabbing Gabriella's wrist. Troy could feel himself tensing up as his muscles readied for action.

"Let go of me, Elvis."

"Why?"

"Because one scream and Tomas will never think the same of you again," she pointed out.

"I can live with that," Elvis smirked confidently.

"By the time he's done with you, you'll be lucky to live," she pressed softly.

Elvis tilted his head and looked at her for a minute, before letting go of her wrist and taking a step back. "Do you know Tomas?"

Troy held his breath and screwed his eyes up. Please, please, please, please…Gabriella, if you do anything, don't say it, don't…

"No," she finally answered. "But he'd feel obligated to tell Christof and that would be the beginning, the middle and the end of all your ambitions."

"What do you know about that?" Elvis snapped in a nasty tone, suddenly looking wary and furious in the same second.

"I know more then I'm given credit for," Gabriella replied and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door with a firm and resolute bang.

Troy grinned – that was the Gabriella he remembered.

* * *

When Troy awoke, he was half-undressed and the sunlight was streaming through the curtains. A quick glance to his watch told him it was still only quarter to seven and Troy made a mental note to make sure the curtains were closed before he went to bed.

Opening up his bedroom door, he expected to find the living area empty. Instead, he found Gabriella in her pajamas, at her desk, typing away furiously on a top-of-the-range laptop. He appreciated that her pajama top was short and gave him a healthy view of her midriff. The memory of kissing her bellybutton clouded his thoughts.

She turned to look at him. "Good morning," she greeted. "Nice look."

Troy looked down and realized he was only wearing his pants and nothing else.

"Thank you," he said, and stretched just for the effect he knew it would have.

Gabriella noticed the rippling muscles, the tanned skin and strong arms, but she just raised her eyebrows and went back to her work. Of course, on the inside, she was ready to grab him and nail him against the wall. "I've seen it all before anyway," she commented and he couldn't dispute that fact.

"I suppose." He'd wanted to hedge around their last night together and let the silence hang.

"What time did you get in?" she asked after five minutes in which Troy just watched her, leaning against his door frame.

"Oh, about ten minutes before you did."

Gabriella turned her full gaze upon him, suddenly paying attention. "Really?"

"Yes really."

Gabriella shrugged, knowing he'd heard the whole conversation. "It was none of your business."

"You did drag me into it," he pointed out. "Made me your knight protector, yet again. I should really get myself some white armor. And a white horse, though black is far more to my taste."

"And nature," she bit back. "You always did wear black wool."

Troy sauntered closer. "Is Mr. Presley still asleep?"

She smiled without thinking and put her pen down. "No. He always works out for an hour in the mornings. He left at six-thirty."

"Good. I missed you." The second statement immediately followed the first, surprising her.

Gabriella's green eyes closed over. "Troy…" she said quietly, almost hesitantly saying his name. "Or Tomas…or whatever you are."

"Troy when we're alone," he told her. "What are you doing here Gabriella? Of all places…"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question? I just look after Sophie. Last I heard you were headed for law school in Virginia."

Troy shook his head. "I seriously doubt you were hired as a nanny. Christof called you his daughter."

Gabriella looked away. "We can't get into this, Troy."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"You don't understand…"

"No! I don't understand," he agreed. "How did you end up here, looking after kids, and dating a guy who doesn't understand that no means no?"

"We can't discuss it here," Gabriella reiterated.

"Where else could we discuss it?" Troy replied.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But not in the house Troy. You don't understand…if they find out I know you…or I spent time alone with you…" she stood up in a sudden flurry. "I have to go check in Allegra and Sophie."

Gabriella flew down the stairs, leaving Troy standing there, surrounded by her scent and the echoing sound of her desperate voice.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: This one's shorter, but you do get some more Troyella time. I promise all your questions will be answered…eventually. In the mean time read and review :)

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Wherever You Are: Chapter 4

Downstairs, Troy found Tony, Benito and Michael eating breakfast. Tony threw him a curt glance, but the boys looked up from their cereal with interest in their matching brown eyes. They were almost exact copies of their father except for their eyes, which were soft, expressive and looked like liquid darkness.

"I'm Tomas," he told them with a smile, putting bread into the toaster and hunting around in the pantry for the peanut butter.

"It's on the third shelf," Benito said with a knowing air of a four-year-old.

"Thank you," Troy said gravely and sat down opposite the boys. "What are you doing today?"

Michael shrugged. "Nothing. Gabriella might take us to a movie, but she has work to do first. She always has work to do." He stopped and thought for a minute. "Everybody always has work to do around here."

Benito agreed, as Troy spread his toast. "Do you have to work?" the younger boy asked.

"I don't know," Troy answered honestly. "I have to talk to Petro, and Al. And maybe Roberto."

Benito turned up his nose. "Berto is funny…but he always drinks the last of the milk. Straight from the carton. Gabriella gets mad when he does that." Troy smiled. "Al looks mean, but he's real nice."

"Really nice," Michael corrected with the condescending air of an older brother. "But Uncle Petro has been really strange since Aunty Laura went away. You know, she didn't go on a holiday, she…"

"Michael," Tony interjected softly. "Put your dish in the dishwasher if you've finished. You too, Benito."

The boys sighed, and did as they were told. They thumped up the stairs and left the airy room in relative peace. Troy, figuring Tony would give him some more of the silent treatment, looked around for a newspaper, but Tony surprised him and sat down next to him.

"Christof has the paper," Tony said, knowing what Troy was looking for. "We get it after him. Be warned: Petro always takes the Sports section, Roberto always takes the comics and Al gets the crosswords."

"So domestic," Troy said with a wry grin.

"What were you expecting?"

Troy frowned and went to put some more bread in the toaster. "This place seems filled with secrets. I guess it's hard to slot into working for another family when I'm not really part of it."

"Would you like some coffee?" Tony asked. Troy nodded and Tony poured a cup. "Every family has secrets," Tony continued. "Some are juicier then others. Some are more devastating then others. Most are very painful and more importantly all are better left alone."

Nodding, Troy looked outside to see Al sitting in his customary spot near the roses, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world and hadn't beat somebody up last night.

"Can I ask you something?" Troy began. Tony nodded. "What is that you do exactly?"

Tony obviously considered his options, before giving him an honest answer. "I take care of security and intelligence. I set up meetings, I organize the bribes, I balance the books and I make sure everything's legit."

Troy frowned in concentration. "I thought that was Petro's job."

"No. Petro does the specialty jobs for the boss. Very delicate jobs. He keeps an eye on the businesses. I organize the bribes and the like, but Petro makes sure the money is coming through the right channels and nothing starts smelling fishy. We're talking the brothels and our main front."

"Drugs?"

Tony shook his head. "People think that's it, but most of our money runs through the real estate business. It's a scam system…it would take a little while to explain. The drugs are pretty new."

Troy sensed a sour note in the last statement and preyed upon it. "You don't like dealing with drugs?"

Tony shrugged. "It's not for me to like or dislike, but it's caused some problems, yes." Troy let the silence fall, knowing when to stop leading. "Al didn't like it; he was furiously opposed to it, but Petro thought it was a good idea. They had a huge fight, and things are still tense between them."

"I see," Troy said, collecting his toast and sipping some of the bitter coffee. "Good coffee," he told Tony.

"Thanks." The man stood. "Tomas…be careful which secrets you press and which you leave alone. There's no room for a wrong move in this house."

* * *

Shortly after he finished breakfast, Troy decided that he should go and visit Daniella. With a turbulent stomach, Troy walked up to the second floor and turned left into the matriarch's wing. The door at the far end of the hall was obviously Daniella's and he knocked.

"Come in," called Daniella in a regal voice. He entered. "Is that you Tomas?" She had her back to the door and was making her bed.

"Yes," he said. "Can I help you?"

"I'm fine." And she finished and straightened up as she spoke, turning to face him with a wide smile. "Come out to my balcony."

He followed dutifully behind her as they exited the French doors onto her balcony that overlooked the garden. An empty tray was on the table – it was obviously her breakfast. Looking around, Troy realized what a lovely spot this was. There were flowers in pots-some blooming in bright vivid colors, others just shrubs and bushes. Ivy crept around the stone railing and the towering oak in the front yard spread its branches out to create some shade.

"Do you like it?" she asked with pride, sweeping her arms out and gesturing for him to sit down. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine," he replied. "I just had breakfast with Tony and his boys."

Daniella nodded and sat herself. Troy realized at that moment exactly how beautiful she was. Daniella Mazio was striking in a way that few women were. From her magnificent black hair without a thread of gray to the juxtaposing ivory skin, she oozed refinement and grace, with a hint of the exotic. Dramatic black eyebrows shaped like wings complimented the unusually colored violet eyes, which were the most noticeable feature of her face. Her jaw was defined and strong, as was the rest of her bone structure. Her mouth was subtle yet luscious, hinting at all sorts of things. Delicate hands, a remarkable figure, impeccable taste in clothing and a hint of sardonic yet potentially dangerous sexuality only added to her features.

Daniella watched him watching her after a few minutes she pronounced in a knowing voice, "You're thinking about how beautiful I am."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"One grows used to being watched, admired, coveted and appreciated. After a while it becomes boring. But every now and then I come across a man who likes what he sees but doesn't want to use it to his advantage." She paused in thought.

Then she continued. "You are one such man. You like what you see, but unlike my husband, you don't want to own it. You don't need to claim it, or make it a possession. You don't need to own a woman, because you know that most women are going to follow you willingly."

Troy tried to shrug off her eloquent assessment. "I don't know about that. But your husband can't have wanted your beauty for beauty's sake could he?"

The sigh of resignation was a tired and old one. "When we first met, and indeed for the first years of our marriage, he adored me. He really did," she added a little defensively after seeing Troy's look of disbelief. "We were very happy, and I thought it was going to last.

"But after Carlo was born, Christof had everything he needed from me, and that was that. I've been kept on because we're both good Catholics and we can't divorce, but Christof hasn't wanted me for years." Something in her voice told Troy that there was part of her that still loved her husband very much.

"I'm sorry," he said, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Don't be." Daniella sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. "So what do you think of Tony?"

Troy thought carefully before answering, wondering at the question. "He's a genuine man. He's very good with his children, though I think he doesn't quite know how to handle Allegra. She probably reminds him of his loss."

Daniella nodded. "He was devoted to Marissa. It was nice to have them in the house; theirs was a marriage based on love, not on alliance or orchestration."

Troy feigned his surprise. "But Petro and Laura were here."

The older woman just looked at him blandly. "You aren't a stupid man, Tomas. You know as well as I do that Petro isn't missing his wife."

"Wherever she went?" he led on.

Daniella grinned. "Oh no, you won't get it out of me that easily. You don't get to know all the family secrets on the second day. I've already told you about Christo and I. Tell me, how do you find Gabriella?"

The turn around in conversation stopped him short for a minute, but he recovered. "I haven't spent much time with her. She seems nice enough, though I'm a little confused about her position in the house."

Daniella was obviously about to reveal everything, when the object of the conversation walked through the French doors. Gabriella, cradling Allegra, with Sophie and the boys trailing behind, walked out onto the balcony.

"I didn't realize you had company," Gabriella said coolly, not really apologetic at all. "I can leave…"

"That's alright," Troy said, standing. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Tommy," Sophie said, resorting to tugging on his pants again. "We're going to see a movie. Do you want to come?"

Troy began to shake his head but Gabriella spoke up. "Why don't you? I could always use some help with the kids."

"I probably have some work to do," Troy said, trying to think of excuses. He didn't think he'd survive an entire day with just Gabriella and some innocent children. He'd probably go out of his mind with memory and would then go out of his mind with thoughts of the future.

"I checked with Christof," Gabriella replied with a winning smile. "He said that you don't have anything to do today. It is Sunday after all, and we have to go to High Mass tonight."

In the corner, Daniella was watching with some interest. Troy realized right then and there, that of all the people in the house to be wary of – the odd Tony, the intense Al, the violent Roberto and the powerful Petro, and obviously Christof – Daniella was the one who he should be the most worried about. She watched. It was all she did – she watched, and saw, and stored up information for later use. The wry smile plastered across her face intimated the fact that she was obviously taking in something…no doubt she'd seen the tension lying between he and Gabriella.

Troy took a deep breath. "I guess I'll go," he said, forcing his voice to sound bright, "What are we going to see?" As he spoke, he lifted Sophie up, resting her on a hip.

Benito answered. "We're going to the old movie theater, to see The Wizard of Oz. Do you want to come, Nonna?" He appealed to his grandmother but she shook her head, her hair rippling across her shoulders.

"No, my little Nito, I have to stay here and look after Allegra." Daniella's Italian accent was more pronounced than her husband's, and the baby's name sounded beautiful when she said it.

"Stupid sister," Benito whined.

"Don't say that," Gabriella chided. "You're older then her, and one day it will be your responsibility to look after her."

"I don't care," the boy said sullenly. "Get rid of her and let's go and see the movie."

"We're off to see the wizard," Troy sang, taking Benito's hand and walking back through the bedroom, out into the hall. "The wonderful wizard of Oz."

Gabriella continued softly behind them. "We hear he is a whiz of a whiz, if ever a whiz there was. If ever, and ever a whiz there was, the wizard of Oz is one because…"

"Because, because, because, because, because…because of the wonderful things he does. We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz," they all finished together as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Gabriella smiled at Troy. "Let's go."

* * *

When they got out of the movie, the children were hungry enough to eat each other, so they went across the road to McDonald's. And then, before Troy knew what was happening, the children had raced off to the playground, leaving him and Gabriella alone. Fractious silence followed.

Troy tried to start a conversation. "I remember you used to be so frightened of the Wicked Witch that you'd climb under the covers and burrow up between Chad and I whenever we watched the movie."

"And you and Chad insisted on watching it. Still…" she smiled herself, "Chad was pretty scared of the flying monkeys."

Troy remembered well. "We went to the zoo on that field trip, and he wouldn't go near the monkeys…he freaked out and ran away and the teacher spent the rest of the day trying to find him."

Gabriella laughed and Troy realized how much he'd missed that sound. "It's good to hear you laugh," he told her.

She shrugged, and tucked her brown hair behind her ear. "Look, about this morning…I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he replied easily, taking in her uncomfortable expression. "I shouldn't have pushed the issue."

"You have to understand that I can't be seen…I'm not allowed to have contact with other…after Laura…" she looked away. "I can't tell you why, but nobody must know that we know each other."

Troy could have agreed more, but didn't let Gabriella see that. "Is it to do with Elvis?" he asked.

She nodded miserably. "Please…just trust me. It's safer this way. I promise."

He watched her; the fear floating through her eyes, her hands clutched together on the table, appealing to him to let the past lie and not to single her out within the household.

"I trust you," he told her, not letting her break their gaze. "But we meant something to each other, and I haven't forgotten that."

"Neither have I," she whispered. "I didn't…I've never forgotten, even though I was angry with you…for, well, it seemed like forever."

"You knew," he pointed out. "We both did. One night, that was all we had. We were going away in the morning."

"But you left," Gabriella said, in a voice that was more tired then angry. "You didn't say goodbye. I could handle the idea that it was one night, but you didn't say goodbye…"

He swallowed with difficulty. "I couldn't…" he trailed away. "I didn't want to," he admitted. "To me, it was more then just, or a goodbye, or whatever."

"Was it?"

He nodded. "I couldn't…I didn't trust myself not to tell you that I had feelings, and make things that much worse."

"You didn't want me to leave like that," Gabriella finished for him. "I didn't want to you to leave at all, Troy."

"It wasn't one of the smarter things I ever did."

"Sleeping with me, or leaving like that?" There was a hard edge to her voice. "Step carefully."

"Leaving you like that. What we did…that was never a mistake. It was too, too much, too long to be a mistake."

Gabriella closed her eyes. "I'd wanted it for so long."

"I know."

"You do, don't you? You were the only one who ever knew. How did you end up here Troy? You of all people, you who wanted to get out so badly, who wanted to be a lawyer, and you've ended like this."

"What is this?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Sophie ran up to them. "Benito fell over," she announced breathlessly, with a certain air of melodrama. "He hurt his elbow."

"Is he really hurt?" Gabriella asked in a hurried voice, already rising. But there was a glint in her eyes that told him she remembered as well.

"No," she shook her head. "He's just pretending."

Troy hid his smile, scooped Sophie up, and followed Gabriella to the playground, trying to forget the last time Gabriella had hurt her elbow.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: This is for somewhereonlyiknow, who gave me an insane number of reviews in a row, prompting me to update sooner. Everyone else should review too please and I cross my heart promise that if you stick with this story you will be pleased in the end and have all your questions answered.

Disclaimer: Nope.

Wherever You Are Chapter 5

_He'd come over to say goodbye and they'd eaten dinner and sat around idly talking. Avoiding, really, the fact that tomorrow they would head different directions, to different colleges – she to Boston, he to Virginia – and not see each other for a long time.  
Troy knew that eventually one of them would broach the topic, but he was content to be with her, to hear the sound of her mellifluous voice, to watch her cat-like eyes light up, to watch her graceful fingers play with the fringe of the tablecloth.  
_

_They'd grown close since their junior year – perhaps closer than Troy and Chad, or Sharpay and Gabriella, and that was a natural reflection of their growing up and Gabriella's break up with Landon Alexander. She'd turned to Troy, until he knew she was his best friend, until she spent the night with him on the couch, the smell of her hair circling around him, her skin smooth beneath his fingers.  
_

_They'd just finished teasingly reminiscing about the Talent Show and Troy's "Wild Thing" rendition, when Gabriella stood decisively, and pulled him to his feet. "I've got a present for you," she said in a mysterious voice that made him yearn to touch her. "Come this way." He could sense that there was something going on, but he let her pull him down the hallway.  
_

_His stomach turned over with anticipation, curiosity and a little confusion when she entered her bedroom and crossed the room. "Gabriella…" he said with entreaty in his voice.  
_

"_It's here somewhere…" she was searching around; her bags were piled up, but there were other things lying around, the things she was leaving behind. "I put it with my bags…"  
_

"_Gabriella," he said her name again, knowing what was going on here, surprised that she'd taken the initiative.  
_

"_Where is it?" Her voice sounded like she was beginning to cry; it was blocked and sliding up and down like crazy. "I know that I…"  
_

"_Gabriella," he said again in a low, intense voice, and she twisted around quickly, slamming her elbow into the edge of her dressing table.  
_

"_Shit," she grabbed her elbow, tears prickling in her brown eyes, making them shine, but he knew it wasn't just the pain. "There's no present," she whispered, not looking at him, her voice broken with the pain, rubbing her elbow. "Damn it hurts," she looked back up at him. "I just wanted to…"  
_

"_I know. I know what you wanted Ella." He stepped closer to her, placing his hand over her own, pulling her towards him by her elbow, until she stood in the circle of his arms, shivering.  
_

"_Troy…"  
_

"_Let me kiss it better," he asked, flexing his thumb over her soft skin and the bump of the bone underneath. Her eyes sparkled, as much with anticipation as with unshed tears.  
_

_Gabriella took her hand away and he bent, pressing his lips against her elbow, pulling away before trailing kisses up her arm to the junction of her shoulder. She shivered again. He paused, and looked at her, his eyes saying all the things he couldn't. "Are you sure?"  
_

"_Very," she answered and she kissed him, barely brushing his lips. "My elbow is better," she whispered with a smile. _

_He returned her smile with one of his own, and with steady fingers, he unbuttoned her shirt. His slow pace was born not only out of a desire to remember everything about her and to savor the inevitable moment, but also because he knew what this meant to her.  
But her body took over, seeming to know things before they happened, responding to his touch with an ardor that surprised and electrified him. She divested him of his shirt, then nervousness seized her for a moment, and she let her hands rest on his stomach, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes.  
_

_Unable to resist, Troy kissed her properly, yielding and stroking, until her hands crept around to the strong planes of his back, and she pulled him closer to her, molding into him.  
_

_Troy spent an eternity, kissing every part of her body; her ankle, above her bellybutton, the inside of her wrist, her neck, the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, loving the soft skin. He listened to her breathing until he knew there was no turning back.  
To the moment when she was pushed her over the edge and landed in Troy's arms._

_  
__

* * *

When Gabriella awoke that morning, she knew before she took her next breath that Troy was gone, leaving her alone in the bed and the empty room. _

* * *

If Troy had thought the mission would be hard, avoiding Gabriella, or appearing not to avoid her, but not to single her out, was an effort of Titanic proportions. He had to forget everything he'd ever known about her; the scar on the back of her knee, the lines of her hand, the way she bit her lip, and the way she sang. The fact that she liked chocolate chip ice cream best, had once had a huge crush on Harrison Ford, and had punched Grant Bodine, plus a million other pieces of information that had been second nature to him most of his life. 

Instead of knowing intimate details about her, he was a stranger to her. A polite stranger, who never went out of his way to actually avoid her; always opened the door for her, handed her things when she asked for them at the table, and had passing and insignificant conversations with her at breakfast. And she was a pretty stranger, who went out with Elvis a lot, worked at a law firm nearby, looked after Sophie and Allegra and always made sure she never paid Troy too much attention, or looked at him too long.

Whilst coping with all of that, he still had to learn the business, come to understand how things worked, try to gather information, not look suspicious and above all else, act completely natural. Troy spent his days on tenterhooks, holding his breath the entire time, and his nights trying to work out what he was going to do next. He got almost no sleep, and he knew that it was beginning to show.

* * *

A week went past and suddenly it was Sunday again. 

The week had been a relatively quiet one. Collecting debts, visiting Christof's businesses, and slowly immersing himself in their world. He came to discover that Roberto wasn't as dangerous as he looked; that Al was an enigma; that Tony was a nice guy and that Petro had a good sense of humor. He found out that Christof was an unscrupulous man, who had no morals, but had a firm belief in God, making him a dichotomy that Troy couldn't pin down. He knew sometimes Christof looked at his wife with infinite tenderness. He learnt nothing further about Laura, or why Gabriella was here, though he did find out that Daniella was an excellent source of information if she was in the right mood.

As was custom every Sunday, the family went to High Mass, but Troy pleaded a headache and looked convincing, so the others went on without him, leaving Troy alone in the house.

Five minutes after they left, he went downstairs and considered his options. He could search Christof's desk, but the man, being such a neat freak was bound to notice. He could try Petro's office. That idea had some merit and he headed in that direction.

Just before he opened the door to Petro's office, the phone in Christof's office rang, echoing through the empty house. After Troy recovered from the noise, he went and answered it.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was professional and cool, and after a few seconds, Troy deduced it was a woman. "Could I speak to Mr. Mazio?"

"I'm afraid he's not here," Troy informed the woman.

"What about Petro Mazio?"

"I'm afraid he's not in either. I'm the only person here."

"And you are?"

"I'm Tomas," he told the woman obliquely. "I'm sure I can help if it's nothing too specific."

The woman seemed to be thinking. "This is Dr. Andrea Hunt, from the Pacific Center. Laura Mazio is a patient here." A patient?

Troy needed to do some fast lying and get some information. "I'm aware of that, Ms. Hunt. Is something wrong?"

"No," the woman began, "But Laura's condition has worsened and she now poses some danger to herself. I'm ringing for permission to increase her dosage, whilst we continue her therapy."

Troy's mind was reeling, but his voice was calm. "That's perfectly alright; we place our trust in the doctors at your facility. Tell me, though, how do you think she's coming along in therapy?"

"She's doing well," Andrea said, her voice warming up, sounding rich and intelligent. "We've discussed her marriage and her subsequent affair with Nick. Now we're going to start discussing Sophie."

"I'm glad you think she's making such good progress, doctor."

"So am I," Andrea returned. "Still, I don't think it's wise for any visitors. She's still dealing with issues about the family, especially Marissa's death."

"Well, Marissa's death hit everybody hard. It was so unexpected," Troy agreed. "Anyway, Dr. Hunt, thank you for everything you're doing."

"My pleasure. It was nice talking to you Tomas."

"Goodbye."

Troy hung up and immediately sat down in Christof's chair. Laura Mazio was a patient at the Pacific Center, which Troy knew to be a first-class psychiatric hospital in Los Angles, obviously under treatment for some severe psychiatric problems. Plus, there was the lover. Nick. The name was ringing bells, but Troy couldn't connect it. Troy couldn't imagine that Christof would simply give Laura over to a doctor and say fix her, mostly because Laura probably knew more then she should about the family business, and in therapy all kinds of interesting things came out, so it was most likely that Andrea was a friend of the family.

He was meeting his FBI contact tomorrow, and would pass on the information and ask him to find out as much as possible about what was going on at the Pacific Center, and exactly who Dr. Andrea Hunt was.

Having decided that, Troy stood up, and left Christof's office, closing the door behind him quietly. That was when he heard the front door swing open and hit the wall behind it with a solid thump. Whoever was in the house wasn't trying to be quiet.

"Hello?" called a female voice from the entrance hall. "Of course nobody's here," she then muttered to herself. "They're all at fucking church, saying their prayers and storing up on absolution for the coming week."

Troy smiled and strode quickly into the main hallway. There, standing in the doorway, with her back to him, lugging a suitcase was a complete stranger with bright red hair and a very cute ass.

"Hi," Troy said softly, trying not to startle her.

It didn't work, because the woman whipped around, let go of her suitcase and nearly fell down. She grabbed hold of the door frame for balance and frowned at him, her deep blue eyes sparking with anger.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked. "And what are you doing in my house?" Troy put on his most charming smile. "I'm living in your house. I work for Christof. I'm Tomas."

"Oh." Her face fell into a smile. "That's okay then," she granted. "Come and help me with this suitcase."

Troy sauntered down the hallway, taking in the girl. No matter where his affections lay in life, it had never once stopped Troy from looking. And when he looked, he did it with a talent that made most women swoon. His eyes roved up and down her body, his eyebrows raised, his lips turned up in a half-smile, leaving everything open-ended and ambiguous, with a predatory gaze lingering across his face. This girl knew the game, and she arched her back, jutted her hips out with ease and practice and not a moment of hesitation.

"Like what you see?" she asked in a low voice, in a challenging tone rather then a supplicating tone

Troy shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose I do," he told her. "That suitcase has some lovely extras."

"You don't know the half of it," she smiled seductively. "I'm Isabel."

"Ah…" he said, understanding dawning across his face, as he realized who she was. "Al's little sister. Home from college."

"With a hangover, an attitude and overdeveloped sex drive," she finished for him. "Isn't that how it goes?"

"Never went to college," he informed her, picking her suitcase up effortlessly. "Second floor, right?"

"Across the hall from Marissa's old room," Isabel agreed. Then she made a face. "And to the right of her Majesty."

Troy took the stairs and knew she was following him. "So," he began, "I bet Christof likes you using that language."

"Uncle Christo is a dichotomous man. He hates me swearing, but curses like a sailor when things don't go his way."

"That's called hypocrisy," he condescended with a grin.

"And you say you didn't go college?" Isabel asked facetiously. "I never would have guessed."

"Still waters," Troy quipped.

"Are boring," Isabel fired back. "Is everyone at Mass?"

"Yes. I don't know about the absolution thing."

"How long till they get back?"

Troy checked his watch as he opened the door to Isabel's room and dropped the suitcase at the foot of the freshly-made bed. "Not long enough to deal with your overdeveloped sex drive. Besides, it'd just get me in more trouble then you're worth. You're cute, but you're still in college."

Isabel screwed up her face, knowing not only that he was right, but clearly interested in somebody else. "Can we still flirt?"

"Sure," Troy agreed with a grin.

When the family returned from church, Isabel and Troy had just started cooking dinner. Elvis, Christof, Gabriella, Al and Roberto walked into the kitchen, reflective after the service. Though, Troy noticed, Gabriella didn't seem too impressed.

"Isabel!" Al said, his face breaking out into a smile. "Hey, baby."

"Don't call me that," the redhead protested, hugging her brother for a long moment. "Good to see you."

"You too," he said softly, kissing her on the forehead. The significance of the moment wasn't lost on anybody in the kitchen. These two had lost a sister, and they only had each other now.

"How are your grades?" Christof asked, but his smile belied his words. "It's good to have you home, Bella. I've missed you."

Isabel gave her uncle a smacking kiss. "Missed you too, Uncle Christo."

Gabriella smiled at the redhead. "Hey little girl," she said.

"Hey big girl." They hugged with ease and Isabel whispered something in Gabriella's ear. Gabriella's gaze flickered to Troy, stopped there with a long look of jealousy in her brown eyes before she stepped away from Isabel.

Roberto still stood in the kitchen door. "Isabel." He spoke gravely and nodded his head at her. There was something going on. A tension had risen in the room, and the others closely observed Isabel and Roberto.

"Roberto," Isabel said, her voice lingering over the consonants, drawling and rolling the second R. "How are you?"

"Good."

"How was church?" She stepped closer towards him.

"It was okay," he admitted. "The sermon went on for a very long, so I conducted business with Little Ando."

"So that's what you were doing?" Al asked, with a wry smile flitting across his lips. "I wondered why the man suddenly went red."

"How long are back for?" Roberto directed at Isabel.

"For the rest of spring and all summer. I'm writing my thesis – it's about Shakespeare," she informed him, taking another step towards him. The tension rose yet again. Christof was concentrating on the two young adults before him.

"That's good," Roberto surmised. "Means you'll have time to relax, time to get sorted…"

"Time to spend with you," the redhead added hopefully.

Roberto nodded very slowly. "I'd like that."

Christof broke out in a smile, Al relaxed, Gabriella wrinkled her nose, and Isabel put her arms around Roberto's neck, pinning herself against him, pushing him against the door. Roberto turned into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her waist and almost swallowing the petite Isabel in his large, yet extremely graceful frame. The others looked on with joy. Troy suddenly realized what was going on. These two were being set up to get married. All in the family, he thought wryly. Then he sighed. There goes the flirting.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own HSM, just everyone else.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 6

Troy was sleeping soundly the next morning, enjoying a peaceful and non-descript dream about a beach and the sun and sea, when an inert mass of curls and giggles landed on his stomach. He sat up with a hurried lurch, his senses already on full alert, responding to the danger, when he realized that the shape sprawled haphazardly across his stomach and giggling with amusement was Sophie.

"Good morning," she said in a cheerful voice.

"Hi." He cleared his sleep-thick and scratchy voice. "Sophie, do you know that it's…" he looked at his watch, "Exactly six o'clock."

"So?" She crawled further up into his lap. "You don't have pajamas."

"Not on the top anyway," he told her. "I was sleeping."

"I wasn't," she pointed out, with the wisdom and gravity of a four-year-old. "You can lie back down Tommy. I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh." He had no reply. So, he did as she suggested and lay back down. Surprisingly, Sophie went with him, nesting herself into the shape of his body, tucking her small arm around his neck and dropping a kiss on his chin.

"I like you," she said, her voice growing sleepy again. She yawned, opening her mouth up wide. "You smell good. You're nicer then my Daddy…" she trailed off, her breathing even and calm. She was asleep. With a well of tenderness that he hadn't felt for many people in his life, he pulled Sophie closer, brushed her hair off her face and wondered how her father could possibly ignore such a gorgeous creature.

* * *

He found that he spent more time with Sophie as the days went past. Most of the nights and the weekends were spent working, which meant he slept till about ten-thirty and had nothing to do for the rest of the day anyway. As a hit-man, he didn't have any other business to attend to like Tony, and he never planned the missions like Al and Roberto did. He just followed orders. The children – mostly Sophie and Allegra – became his constant companions. Gabriella was always working and Daniella had things to do, so somebody had to look after the girls whilst the boys were at school. And more often then not, he was the one to pick the boys up.

There was a level of detachment that Troy had tried to maintain during his mission. As an agent, he had been taught never to get connected to anything during a long-term mission, because it always made things messy. Realistically though, a mission like this was different. It was a family, and regardless of what they did for a living, it was a loving family.

The children ran around the house, welcomed by everyone. Roberto, Troy and Al often played soccer with the boys. Isabel and Gabriella could be found gossiping in the kitchen. People laughed and argued with passion, everyone cooked meals together, everybody rolled their eyes about Daniella. It was a happy environment.

And the fact that there were children involved and Gabriella was here meant that maintaining any kind of detachment was impossible. His past and feelings were with him all the time. He could never get away from it with Gabriella around to always remind him of who he was.

But Sophie and Allegra gave him something to do, and he enjoyed being with them. Allegra, only six months old, needed constant attention and he found new things to do with Sophie all the time.

Professionally, there wasn't a lot going on. There were a few nasty incidents they had to take care, but after that, it was mostly collecting debts and making sure all the shipments ran smoothly. He grew closer to Al and Roberto, but both still remained aloof. He understood that. Troy was new, and he reminded them all the time that a friend of theirs had been killed. A month went by, and Troy slowly, but surely wormed his way into the Mazio family, all the while desperately trying to ignore Gabriella.

* * *

It was the fourth Saturday since he had arrived, and at exactly eight-thirty at night, he met Al and Roberto outside. To his surprise, Tony and Petro were also waiting. He said nothing about their appearance, but simply accepted his gun and got into the van.

Roberto drove and Al sat beside him. "We're going to collect a shipment," Al told him, as they coasted through the night. "Drugs."

"Ah…" it became clearer to Troy what was going on. "And after last time…" he trailed off, not needing to finish his sentence.

Al nodded. "We don't think they'll try again, but you can never tell with Victoria Del Torio. The woman is a witch."

Troy shrugged. "She should be careful. A house might fall on her one day. Or…a bullet might rip through her stomach."

Petro's grin shone in the car. "I like the way you think Tomas."

"I like the way I think," Troy returned. "The woman would have to be stupid if she tried again, wouldn't she?"

"She is a woman," Tony pointed out. "I'm not sexist, but women just don't know how to operate in this business."

"I agree," Roberto said from the driver's seat. "They're always letting their emotions get in the way. She's out for revenge."

Troy didn't agree with them, but followed the information. "Revenge for what? Correct if I'm wrong, but we were the ones who lost a hit-man."

"Yes, Nicolo, but you don't know what happened after that," Al said mysteriously. Troy waited, knowing Al would tell him. "We got rid of her lover. She was unimpressed."

"Who was the lover?"

"A cousin," Roberto said. "She found him dead in the bathtub. Victoria just doesn't understand that's how things work. Now out for revenge."

"There isn't a third eye," Troy pointed out. Al understood, but Petro shot him a strange look. "An eye for an eye," Troy continued. "There are only two eyes there. Not a third."

"Oh," the older man said. The stink of brine, oil and fish permeated at the car; they were getting close to the docks. "Did Sophie brush her teeth tonight?" Petro asked.

Troy hid his amusement at being asked such a domestic question immediately before they were about to go and collect drugs. "Yes," he replied obliquely. Al's mouth quirked up; he too was amused.

"We're here," Tony announced as the car pulled to a stop. "No more talking."

They approached the docking area warily, but didn't detect anything out of the ordinary. Their supplier was waiting impatiently.

"About time," he grumbled, and whistled to his boys to start loading up the truck.

The truck would go to one of Christof's storehouses, and the drugs would then be sold through a number of street-dealers. Troy suppressed his thoughts about morality and took his post, near the door. They were looking for the Del Torio's as much as they were looking for the authorities. Troy kept watching his area, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and taking deep breaths. They were a few minutes off finishing the job, when Troy saw the quick flash of metal above him, in the loft area. He frowned. Two seconds later, he realized what it was. A gun.

Victoria Del Torio was stupid enough to try again.

In the exact second that Troy realized, the Del Torio's attacked, and Troy had a nanosecond to warm everybody.

"The loft," he cried, his voice echoing in the warehouse, as the first spate of gunfire rained down upon them.

Being as quick as they were, Petro, Tony, Al and Roberto jumped into action, but the Del Torio's were coming in from above and from behind, too fast to really get full control of the situation.

Troy was tackled clumsily from behind by a small guy without much strength. He elbowed his attacker in the solar plexus without really thinking about it and shook him off, trying to get a clear shot on the gunman in the loft, who thankfully hadn't hit anybody.

Another man attacked from the side; Troy's hand shot out and jabbed him in the neck. It would put him out of commission, but not do any damage.

He moved into the open area of the shed, checking to make sure the others were okay. Al was closest to him, fighting off a giant with seeming ease, Tony was calmly protecting their shipment, and Petro and Roberto were doing the same thing as Troy; trying to get a clean shot. He moved further into the open area, concentrating on his target. He therefore didn't see the second shooter, who was behind him, his gun trained on the back of Troy's head, beginning to squeeze the trigger.

The shooter in the loft shifted his angle and Troy had the perfect shot. He aimed and was about to shoot the guy in the leg, when he was thrown to the ground in a tumble of rough concrete, the jarring shudder of bodies hitting a hard surface, the muffled groan of another man, and the sound of a gunshot, right near his ear.

Troy sat up, completely disoriented, and discovered another body tangled up in his, pinning him down. The sound of gunfire had ceased, though it continued to ring in Troy's ears. He shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness.

Both of the Del Torio shooters were now on the ground; one had been shot in the chest, the other in the head. Across the other side of the warehouse, Roberto was lowering his gun.

Troy figured that Roberto had taken out the shooter in the loft, and it took him a little while to realize that the one with the hole in his head would have shot Troy if he hadn't been thrown to the ground. Troy tilted his head; then he looked down at the sharply-boned body that was tangled up with his.

It was Al.

The short man looked up at him, the acrid smell of gunpowder traveling up Troy's nose. The source was Al's gun. The two men looked at each other.

Al raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Well…wasn't that fun?"

* * *

When they got home they stank of gunpowder, Troy and Al had bruises of grazes, they were exhausted and running on adrenaline. Rather then getting changed and going to bed, where they wouldn't be able to sleep, they all congregated in the kitchen.

Tony, who looked the most presentable of them, grabbed some beer out of the fridge, and they sat in the living room.

"Quick thinking tonight Tomas," Petro said, handing him a Sam Adams. "Your kind of beer?" he asked.

Troy nodded. "No other kind as far as I'm concerned."

"That's my man." Petro and Troy knocked cans with each other and smiled. "I mean it Tomas. It was a good pick-up. No one else would have noticed."

"I doubt that," Troy refuted. "Besides, I was stupid enough to nearly get myself shot. And I owe my thanks to Al for giving me some grazes…"

"Poor boy," Roberto interrupted. "You could get Daniella to kiss them better," he suggested, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Don't talk about my aunt that way," Al groaned and winced, wearing a pained expression. "I'll have nightmares for weeks."

"Come on!" Roberto exclaimed. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about her that way just once…the woman is amazing. And she's my cousin. If it's not revolting for me, why should it be revolting for you?"

"Actually," Tony began, disagreeing with Roberto, "You're Christof's cousin. You aren't related to Daniella at all."

"If somebody killed her I'd take revenge. That's family," Roberto shrugged.

"Back to Tomas, who we so rudely interrupted with our discussion about fantasies."

"Thanks," Troy said sarcastically. "I just wanted to say thanks to Al for giving me some grazes, but not letting me get killed."

"Don't get soppy on me now," Al joked. "I'll think you bat for the other side. But your thanks are greatly appreciated. I got my own grazes for you."

"War wounds," Tony shrugged. "We've all got them."

Petro looked at Tony. "Some are more impressive then others," he said, looking back at Tomas. "Come on…we all know each other's war wounds. Tell us yours.'

Troy must have looked reluctant, because Al and Roberto added their challenge. "Come on Tomas."

He put his beer down and figured he could just invent stories for the scars he already had. As an undercover agent he'd been shot and beat up enough times. "Okay. But I can't show you all of them. There are children in the house."

"Can't you control your women?" Roberto asked.

"Very funny," Troy replied. He lifted his top and showed them a long line across his stomach. "A guy knifed me. Luckily, none of my vital organs fell out…"

"Or off," Al interrupted.

Troy rolled his eyes. "And…this one here on my shoulder," he pulled the top down, and leaned over so they could get a closer look, "Is a bullet wound. It was a situation similar to tonight actually, but nobody pushed me out of the way."

Petro winced with recognition. "Had one of those myself. Not pleasant."

"No," Troy agreed. "My girlfriend thought it was very brave. I thought it was very painful." The others laughed. "And I have a few other bits and pieces. Scars from being hit with glass bottles…things like that."

Tony, sitting beside him, looked around Troy at his back, frowning in confusion. "What about those?" He pointed to two jagged lines running down Troy's back.

"Oh…" Troy trailed off and turned so the others could see, looking down at the carpet. "Those are just scars from my old man," he told them, looking up.

Gabriella was standing in the doorway, with Elvis behind her. They'd obviously just been on a date.

"Gabriella," he said in surprise. Her eyes flickered down to the scar on his stomach, which was very faint.

"That looks nasty," she said, stepping closer to get a better look. "A knife wound if I'm not mistaken."

"You aren't," Troy informed her, aware of how close she was standing, him with his shirt half off, the others all watching. Gabriella ran a finger lightly along the scar, her nail barely making contact. He held his breath. Gabriella took a step back.

"Petro…Tony…" she looked at the two men. "Christof just got back from that function with Daniella. He wants a full report."

Both men stood, putting their bottles down.

"Come along, Elvis," Petro said.

"Me?" the young man asked in surprise and annoyance. "Why should I come?"

"You need to hear this," Tony said, with an impenetrable stare. "I suggest that you come with us."

Elvis followed immediately, knowing it wasn't a suggestion, leaving Roberto, Gabriella, Al and Troy alone and in silence.

"Come on, Berto," Gabriella said. "Let's get you cleaned up before Isabel comes home. She's at a friend's house."

"It's midnight," he pointed out, standing anyway. "I'm not going to see her until tomorrow."

"You never know," Gabriella said blandly. "Besides…I have something I want to talk to you about." Roberto followed reluctantly behind Gabriella. Troy continued to drink his beer, figuring he'd finish it and go upstairs to bed.

"You should watch your step," Al said out into the silence.

"Sorry?" Troy asked with confusion in his voice. "Watch my step where? Or with what?"

"With who. Gabriella. I see the way you two look at each other, and attraction is fine, but don't let it become anything more."

"I don't understand…we don't look at each other any way."

"Yeah," Al disputed. "You do. There's always a subtext with you two. What you say isn't really what you mean."

"I don't know," Troy said, voicing his non-sequitur with remembrance.

"Whatever," Al said, puzzled. "Just don't let anything happen. Gabriella Montez isn't for sale."

"Who owns her?" he asked.

Al shrugged. "Don't matter. There are lots of issues with Gabriella. Lots of history, lots of water under the bridge. I'd just leave her well alone."

"What history?" Troy pushed, wanting an answer – a real answer, rather then the hedging and unclear answers he got from everybody.

"Most places have secrets. Nearly all have lies. This place managed to get more then its fair share, and most of them are things you don't need to know." Al stood. "I'm going to bed."

Troy waited until Al was standing in the doorway. "Thanks again," Troy said. "For saving me."

"No problem."

"Why?" Troy then asked him. Al turned to face him, with a strange expression on his face.

"My parents were killed by Christof, because my father was a rival. It makes good business sense, but they were my parents. Some days I hate this place. I just want to get out. And some days I think you feel the same way." Al tilted his head. "I like you."

Then he disappeared, leaving Troy alone.

* * *

Troy finished his beer and sat there for another ten minutes, condensing what Al had said, feeling for a second some of his irrational teenager rebellious attitude, not liking the idea that people knew more about Gabriella then he did.

Shaking his head, and tucking it all firmly away in a corner of his mind, he went upstairs to bed, the adrenaline that had carried him this far, finally fizzling out, leaving him tired and dirty.

He flicked his light on and pulled his clothes off, falling tiredly onto the bed, and cursing when his head connected with something hard. Sitting up, Troy realized what was resting on his pillow. It was a gun. To be more precise, it was a Colt .9 mm, silver, sleek, expensive and beautiful. It was the kind of gun that did a lot of damage. Attached, was a note.

_Congratulations. I know it doesn't match your grazes, but welcome to the Mazio's. Just don't shoot one of us – Al._

* * *

He was lying in bed that morning, the gun tucked safely away, when he sat up and realized what had been nagging him, in the back of mind last night when he went to sleep. Besides the gun of course.

_"Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't we the ones who lost a hit-man?"  
_

_"Yes…Nicolo…"_ he heard Al replying in the car.

_Nicolo…Nick._

_"We've discussed her marriage and her subsequent affair and the reasoning behind the affair, and why she chose Nick as her lover."_

Troy remembered why the name Nick had rung bells. Nick was the hit-man who had been killed in the last Del Torio raid.

He didn't get anymore sleep.

* * *

**Read and Review, pretty please, with cherries on top:)**


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Wherever You Are: Chapter Seven

On Sunday, the house was subdued.

Christof stayed in his office and spoke in an angry tone on the phone. Troy imagined he was trying to work out how the Del Torios kept figuring out when the next shipment of drugs would be.

It puzzled Troy that he hadn't seen a lot of Christof. Most men were out with their boys a lot. They might not do the dirty work, but that sat in on planning, they were part of the process, and it was odd that Christof removed himself from it. Limited contact with Christof was also making the mission harder, but for now, Troy was happy to just gather information.

He was meeting his contact next Wednesday. He'd discover what information the department had gleaned about Laura and her stay in hospital, and he would pass on the fact that Laura's lover had been the murdered hit-man, killed in the last raid.

After lunch, Troy took Allegra for a walk. Everybody had been given strict instructions to been seen out and about like there wasn't a problem. Partly to reassure all the other families, but mostly to piss off the Del Torios. So, Troy complied and took Allegra to the park that was six blocks south of the house. It was a large park, with an athletics field, where the local track and field club trained, and a football field beyond that. The playground was closer to the house, and without fail, there were always children about.

The sun made a feeble appearance before disappearing behind some clouds again. He sat down at a bench and rocked Allegra's pram with his foot, watching the other children play, and the dogs run around. Other parents smiled at him, assuming he was the father of the gorgeous baby he was rocking. Troy inwardly shrugged. They could think what they liked.

He'd been there about twenty minutes, when somebody sat down beside him. He looked across the bench. It was a woman with long honey-colored, slightly wavy hair. She looked at him and smiled. Troy smiled back; the woman was sexy in a dangerous way. Her body was all curves and planes, with golden skin, long limbs and slim hips.  
Her lips were luscious, her eyes a striking brown, and her nose was long. She exuded confidence and she crossed her legs towards him and leaned back, revealing a healthy eyeful of cleavage. Troy took it all in and turned back to the baby.

"Is she yours?" the woman asked.

Troy looked at her again. He wondered whether he should lie. Then he wondered what she'd do if she thought that Allegra was his. He settled for the truth. "No, she's not."

"A friend's?" He nodded. "Bad weather," she continued and Troy realized he was going to have to talk to this woman.

"Mm. Still, they say it should clear up by Tuesday."

"You doing something on Tuesday?" She raised a plucked eyebrow and let him see even more of her cleavage.

"No," he shrugged, "But I hate overcast weather. It should either rain or shine. None of this messing in-between crap."

"You like things black and white," the woman surmised. She shifted closer. "She's very beautiful. How old is she?"

The woman wasn't interested in the baby at all, but by leaning in to get a closer look, she could show her breasts off to their full advantage. Clinically, he noted that they were very lovely breasts.

"Allegra is six months old," he informed her. Troy realized she wasn't wearing a bra. His thoughts turned a little less clinical, but it was with amusement that he noted this lack of underwear.

"Are you sure she's not yours? She looks a lot like you," the woman offered.

"No," he repeated in a blank voice. "She's not mine."

"So…what do you do for a living, Mr…." the woman trailed off, fishing for his name.

"I'm Tomas," he replied. "And you are?"

The woman titled her head. "I'm Victoria Del Torio."

Troy's nerves began to buzz, but he made a deliberate show of not shifting, moving or showing any kind of surprise. "I'm pleased to meet your Ms. Del Torio."

"Call me Vicki," the woman ordered imperiously. "I'm not one to beat around the bush. I think you're very attractive."

"Do you?" he asked, with some amusement.

"Yes, and if I invited you home right now, what would you do?"

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Well…that depends on what you want to do, Vicki?"

Suggestively, she ran a finger down his chest. The woman had not a single ounce of decorum. "What do you think I want to do Tomas?"

"I don't know," he replied evasively, "You might want to cook me some food, you might want to hear my life story, you might want to do something else, but before you do anything, I'd suggest you find out where I work." He stood and looked down at her. "Does the name Mazio ring any bells?"

Troy walked away and the sun appeared from behind a cloud and shone strongly upon them.

"How's that for a sign?" he asked Allegra. Not surprisingly, Allegra didn't reply.

* * *

The next time Gabriella and Elvis went out it was the Wednesday night following his chance meeting with Victoria Del Torio. They arrived home at about ten-thirty. Gabriella looked tired and upset; Elvis looked pleased and energetic. Troy knew all of this, because he was watching them through the crack in the door.

He didn't make it a habit to watch them when they came back from their dates; in fact, he made it a point to ignore them, but he'd been about to go to the bathroom, when they came up the stairs and now the door was open a few centimeters. Troy stood, in his pajama bottoms, holding the door handle and watching Gabriella and Elvis.

They paused at her door and Gabriella gave him a tired, chaste kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight Elvis. Thank you."

Elvis seemed about to let her go without an altercation, when he grabbed her wrist and pushed her against the wall. In quick succession, he kissed her, wormed a knee between her legs and grasped at her. Troy, tense and alert, watched to see what Gabriella's response would be. She foisted Elvis off without much effort and stared at him belligerently.

"What," she asked in a deadly voice, enunciating every word very clearly, "The hell was that?"

Elvis stared at her in abject disbelief. "You weren't going to keep me waiting any longer were you Gabriella? It's been months now."

"Elvis, I may keep you waiting for eternity now," she said defiantly, her voice sharp with anger, and she stepped back towards her bedroom. This time, Elvis didn't give her a chance.

He had her backed up against the wall again, arms pinned either side of her, tightly around her stomach, hands holding her wrists down, mauling at her again, only this time it was obviously painful from the expression on Gabriella's face. He bit viciously at her neck, pressing his body into his and trapping her, eliciting a small scream of fear.

Troy stormed out of his bedroom. With a negligent toss, he threw Elvis off Gabriella. The man fell back against the coffee table, sending dirty dishes, papers, magazines, the cordless phone, some of Sophie's paints, and Allegra's bottle flying, landing in an undignified heap and releasing a string of swearwords.

Troy couldn't have cared less. Gabriella, with her top half-ripped, and a red mark appearing on her neck, was backed up against the wall, curling an arm about her stomach. He touched her gently, and was relieved when she didn't pull away from the touch, but leant into it.

Elvis was standing again, as Troy shepherded Gabriella into his bedroom. Troy shot him a parting comment, "Stay out of my sight until at least lunchtime tomorrow."

He closed the door behind them.

* * *

Gabriella regained her equilibrium within minutes, the color returning to her face and lips, and her voice steadying. She stopped shaking after ten minutes, and Troy let go of her. He tossed her one of his shirts and turned so that she could change in privacy. After a few minutes, he heard her sit back on his bed. He turned around to find her lying on the left side of the bed. Tentatively, he lay down beside her and when she made no protest he shifted closer towards her.

"Thank you," she said, after they lay in silence. Her hand brushed his arm. "Thank you very much Troy."

"My pleasure," he told her. She rotated on to her hip so she faced him, and they looked at each other across the pillows, their faces inches apart. Troy couldn't help it – he reached out and fixed a piece of hair, smoothing it back into place.

"You really don't like Elvis, do you?" she asked.

"Is it that obvious?" he replied wryly. "I thought I gave the appearance of adoring the man."

"You do. You're very believable. But I can tell that you don't like him. He's okay, Troy."

He raised an eyebrow in patent disbelief. "The man practically rapes you and you're telling me that he's okay?"

"He didn't practically rape me," she disputed. Troy let the silence fall. "Fine then, if you hadn't come along, it would have been a problem, but I don't think he would have forced me upon himself all the way."

"If you say so," Troy granted, still not believing her. "What is the deal with you two anyway?" He'd wanted to ask the question for ages, and he hoped Gabriella wouldn't avoid it.

She sighed and his shirt shifted across her chest. There was a bruise forming along the top of her left breast.

"You've got a bruise," he told her, looking at where it was. She looked down and swallowed with difficulty. "It's okay," he said. "You'll just have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow. That's all."

"I suppose." Gabriella bit her lip. "The deal with Elvis and I…well…we're expected to get married."

Troy let her breath out in a whoosh. "I see." He didn't really, because the thought of Gabriella marrying anybody other than him was ridiculous.

"Don't get mad with him," Gabriella continued, trying to ignore the issue of marriage. "I have been holding out on him, and we've been going out now for nearly six months."

Troy looked at her very seriously. "Brie, listen to me very closely, you could go out for six years and hold out on him, and he should respect that. Whatever your decision, whatever you want, he should respect it."

Her brow wrinkled. "Shouldn't I respect his wishes too?"

He shook his head. "No. You're the woman in this scenario, and even if it's sexist, physical respect is much more important for women then it is for men. Let's face it, Elvis could protect himself against you, but you can't really protect yourself against Elvis. That's not saying you're weak. It's just recognizing that women are far more easily preyed upon then men."

Gabriella wrinkled her nose. "That is sexist." Then she shrugged. "But it's true. I don't…he won't do it again. Not now that you've…"

"I've what?" he asked, when she trailed off. "Threatened him, beaten him up and turned him into a vegetable? I told him to stay away from me for less then twenty-four hours. Oh yeah. That's scary."

"He's a little scared of you anyway," Gabriella informed him, a smile hedging its way back onto her face.

"Me? I'm not scary."

"You can be."

"Have you ever once, in the entire time of knowing me, which is practically forever, been frightened of me?" Gabriella considered the question carefully. "It can't be that hard to answer!"

"No," she finally said, with a full, bright, sunny smile. "I've been annoyed, irate, livid, furious, completely speechless with shock, horror, confusion, and embarrassment at being seen with you, and I have on occasion been ready to kill you, but I have never been terrified or petrified of you."

"Look who's been using the thesaurus."

"To other people who don't know you, you can be intense, Troy. Your gaze can be disconcerting. And physically…you're tall and strong, and you have wide shoulders, and you obviously work out and…"

"You've been paying attention to me," Troy interrupted with a sly grin.

"Shut up!"

"You have so. You've been checking me out. Admit it, you've been checking out my gorgeous, edible, bodacious butt."

Gabriella eyeballed him. "Troy, your butt has never been bodacious, gorgeous and edible and it will never be bodacious, gorgeous and edible."

"You got the order wrong," he pointed out.

Gabriella laughed. "This is what I've missed. Lying in a room, trading insults, whilst Taylor rolled her eyes and Chad told us to shut up, in case he missed any of the Lakers game, even though he had it Tivo'd."

Troy shook his head. "Yeah Gabriella, 'coz, those are the memories to treasure above all else. Forget the day Kelsi and Jason announced they were getting together. Forget Sharpay's sixteenth birthday, when Ryan got drunk, Taylor got mad, and you and I had to organize the rest of the party, with eighteen million screaming teenagers, a pink piñata and a fashion show. And forget the trip we took to New York, when we played in the Charity Basketball Game, and Sharpay took us to that nightclub and Chad got drunk this time, and nearly left his award there. Forget your seventeenth birthday, and the karaoke bar, and the song we all sang for you, and the necklace your Mom gave you, and the way I totally embarrassed myself by hitting on that blonde chick at the restaurant. Forget graduation, and all of us getting drunk and going swimming at three in the morning and nearly getting arrested. Forget all that, because lying on my bed, at four in the morning, after watching _Sports Center_, with neurotic Chad demanding silence, you and I nearly falling off her chair with laughter and Taylor screeching at Chad is the memory to treasure."

"Troy," she said very sweetly. "I haven't missed you."

* * *

On Saturday, all the men went for routine medical check-ups. Everyone grumbled about it, but Christof insisted.

"I run a tight ship," he told them, as they walked out the door. "And I don't want any of my men getting sick, or having any problems. That includes me."

It took over four hours for Tony, Petro, Roberto, Christof, Al and Troy to get checked out by the doctor, who said that he'd send their results by Thursday at the latest. They got home just in time for lunch.

Roberto immediately sat next to Isabel, near Christof's end of the table. Their relationship had been very low-key, but everyone in the house had noticed its development. They sat next to each other, they could always be found talking to each other, they went out often and when they thought nobody was watching, they exchanged very tender looks. It often made Troy want to vomit and smile at the same time.

Al was watching the relationship unfold with more interest then the others. Roberto knew he had to tread carefully, or he'd be facing Isabel's older and more importantly deadly brother. Petro too was watching carefully, though his interest was more loving then Al's. Gabriella too, seemed to be taking some interest, but since discovering that she was expected to marry Elvis, Troy imagined that her reasons were more to do with how Isabel and Roberto were being manipulated, or if they were being manipulated at all.

Daniella was in full flight at the top of the table, whilst Gabriella and Troy tricked Sophie into eating and Troy made sure Allegra didn't get into any trouble, where she lay on her rug behind them.

"I saw Victoria Del Torio this morning, when I was doing some shopping," Daniella was saying and Troy paid attention. Daniella looked at him. "She said to say hello to you Tomas and hopes that all is forgiven."

The entire table fell quiet, and Troy could have heard a pin drop. Everybody was looking at him expectantly, most with expressions of confusion and suspicion. Sophie continued to bounce on his knee and eat her lunch.

Troy shrugged nonchalantly, glad that there really wasn't anything to the story. "She approached me at the park the other day when I was with Allegra. Flirted for all she was worth, but she didn't know who I was. I told her, and told her to stay away. Or words to that effect anyway." The tension eased out of the room, and most people returned to their lunch.

"She seemed bitter," Daniella admitted. "She gave me the message with a sneer. And her top was cut low enough," the woman remarked. Today Daniella wore a dress of brilliant red, with a long skirt and a modest front. Her hair was pinned up in curls, and she didn't have a single line on her face. Troy knew that women all over Boston probably hated Daniella and her perfect face.

"If I recall correctly," Christof said very calmly, from the other end of the table, addressing Daniella with a pointed look, "At Victoria Del Torio's age, you were nearly arrested for indecent exposure. That blue dress of yours barely covered your assets."

Daniella raised a finely sculpted eyebrow; it was her signature look. Everybody else cowered as the couple faced each other and conducted a real conversation for the first time in months. Christof took in her arch look without a second glance.

"Is that so?" Daniella asked in an amused and haughty voice.

"Yes," Christof replied equably. "Of course, at Victoria Del Torio's age, you were doing all kinds of things." The implicit meaning was not lost on anybody.

Daniella's eyes narrowed; the violet became a deep purple. "Christof, my darling, my love, my husband," she said in a voice like sugar, "Infidelity has always been your specialty. And I can say with all confidence that I have never once strayed from this marriage."

Christof seemed interested and almost confused by Daniella's statement, but his face smoothed to complete indifference within seconds. Christof's dark eyes softened imperceptibly, and only Troy noticed. "If you say so, Del."

His wife's mouth parted in surprise. Del was a nickname he hadn't used for many, many years. "I say so Christo," she replied, her eyes just as soft, her voice almost tender. The others held their breath in disbelief. "I say so."

"Then I believe you. Lunch is getting cold," he then said, breaking the silence of the room. "Hurry up and eat, or Isabel and Gabriella will start complaining that we don't appreciate their food."

"You don't," Isabel said flatly, trying to recover from the moment they'd all just witnessed. "You just eat it. If you appreciated it, you'd look at it for at least a full ten minutes before you started devouring it."

Roberto looked pained and looked at Isabel with disdain and affection. "Isabel," he said. "Men don't look at food…they don't take the time to. Food is only there for one purpose. To be eaten."

Isabel nodded with agreement and smiled sweetly. "Then I should feel glad that you actually look at me."

Petro laughed at his brother. "She's got you there, Berto."

"She's got me everywhere," he informed the table.

"We don't need the details," Al surmised wryly. "There are children at the table."

"There are not!" Michael hotly disputed. "I am not a child.'

"Neither am I," Benito agreed.

Al looked at the two young boys. "Trust me. There are things you don't want to hear about, even if you're children or adults. Isabel and Roberto are two of those things."

"Shut up!" Isabel exclaimed. "Some brother you are."

"I'm not some brother," Al said, as he finished his lasagna. "I'm your brother, my dearest, loveliest Isabel."

Daniella and Christof were still watching each other, with soft, open eyes. Troy couldn't tell, but he thought there was almost love in their gaze.

* * *

When the medical reports arrived on Thursday morning, Troy was the one who answered the door and collected them from the courier. Al and Roberto were out in the garden, planning to get rid of a pimp who'd been hustling the girls at one of Christof's brothels. Troy wasn't going to be involved in that – it was a job for only one person, and Al was going in.

Tony, Petro and Christof were out meeting with a contact about the Del Torio situation, Elvis had disappeared to wherever it was he routinely disappeared to, leaving Troy alone in the house with the medical records.

As an FBI agent, Troy strictly upheld the law and the constitution. Not only because the law was important in his job, but also because he knew how much trouble people could get into for breaking some laws. And also because it would be hypocritical for him to break those laws, when he was supposed to enforce them. But Troy could live with the distinction of hypocrisy. He could even live with the distinction of breaking a very minor law.

So, he sat down in the formal living room, which was never used and checked out the medical results. He checked his first wanting to make sure he didn't have some horrible disease, and was relieved to discover that he was in perfect health. The doctor had written: there is nothing wrong with this man. A fine specimen. Troy gave some idle consideration to the doctor's sexuality, before turning to the other reports.

Both Al and Roberto, like Troy, were in good health. Al's shoulder seemed a little stiff, and Roberto had an ear infection, but both had good response times, good blood pressure, and all of the standard tests that had been taken had checked out okay.  
Troy was surprised to note that all of them had been tested for their sperm count. Before he could stop himself, he checked his own and was again relieved to discover that it was fine. Al and Roberto's were also normal, as was Petro's.

Petro had a high cholesterol count and high blood pressure, showing some hypertension, but for a man approaching forty-five, he was in very good shape. The doctor recommended less cholesterol intake, and Troy decided he'd watch Petro's diet himself. The man was always kind to Troy, and Troy never forgot a kind act.

Tony too was in pretty good shape. His sperm count was a little lower than average, but since Tony didn't appear to be procreating any time in the near future, it didn't seem to matter. Tony's blood pressure was also a little low, and the doctor wanted him to be careful of that.

Finally, he reached Christof's medical report. Whatever he'd expected – cancer, Parkinson's disease, an iron deficiency, cirrhosis, banalities or green blood – it certainly wasn't there. The man was in excellent health. There was one small, slight problem that caused Troy to drop the files. Christof was sterile. After a whole minute of considering how he could possibly have a son, be sterile and be assured by Daniella that she hadn't strayed, he picked Christof's file up again, noting the writing next to the piece of information. We knew it would happen, Christof. Your count was always low…at least Daniella's past childbearing years. So, Troy thought, Christof hasn't always been sterile, but he has always had a low sperm count. And being an FBI agent, he knew that there was something fishy about the whole thing. What, he didn't know, but if he had a say in it, he was going to know soon.

* * *

AN: Review, like really, please? 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own HSM.

Wherever You Are: Chapter Eight

He returned the medical reports to Christof's desktop and headed slowly upstairs, knowing where he really wanted to go. He stood at the head of the staircase, looking across at the nursery, debating the decision. After a minute, he turned left and headed towards Daniella's apartment. Thankfully, Allegra was asleep and Sophie was playing at a friend's house. He was due to pick her up just before lunch. Troy shook his head as he realized how domesticated he had become.

"Good morning Daniella," he called, as she entered the room. Her dressing gown was on the bed, but when he looked out on the balcony, she was fully dressed.

"Good morning Tomas." She turned to face him from the balcony doors. She was dressed so impeccably that she made Troy think of an old movie star.

"How are you?"

"Good. You've come to talk about Carlos."

He made his way through her bedroom. "And how do you deduce that?" he asked, coming to stand beside her.

"You were the only person who looked twice yesterday. You don't know the story, and you are confused and curious."

"You're good."

"No. I'm brilliant."

"And modest," he added. "So, tell me about your son."

"What do you want to know?" She sat down on one of the chairs.

"Everything," he answered, sitting down opposite her. The sun cut paths across the balcony, turning colors iridescent and bright.

Daniella tilted her head. "When I met Christof, I fell in love instantly. We met at a party, through a mutual friend. He was a few years old then I, but he was dangerous and suave. He made me think of James Bond. Of course, I knew what he did for a living. My father did the same thing. But Christo made something heroic out of what he did, and I believed that he loved me back. He did in a way, because I was beautiful and everybody wanted me and it looked good for him to have me. But he was affectionate towards me for himself as well. There were real feelings involved. Our parents weren't that opposed to the marriage. Christof's father wasn't around, his mother was dying, and my parents thought that Christof was going somewhere. We were married fourteen months after we first met, in a lavish, ostentatious ceremony. And we were happy. Certainly, we argued. We're very different people, but I respect him. He's highly intelligent and funny, and he can be very thoughtful. Of course, he can be very cruel too. For the first few years, we were deliriously happy. Anything I wanted I got, and he told me everything about the business, shared his life with me. When I found out I was pregnant, I've never seen Christof so happy. I thought he was going to burst, and I was inundated with flowers everyday, and jewelry and clothing. I worried he wouldn't concentrate on work. I was very nervous. I desperately wanted to bear a son and I did. Christof was a wonderful. Even when things fell apart for us, he was a wonderful, generous, loving, accepting father, who never placed expectations on Carlos, who always loved him no matter what."

She paused and briefly looked away. "Until Carlos was five, everything was fine. We did everything with our little boy. There are thousands of photographs and slides. He wasn't spoilt, but he was a lucky boy. And the fact that I couldn't seem to get pregnant again didn't seem bother Christof. But suddenly, almost overnight, when Carlos was five, things changed. He stopped talking to me, he ignored me, and he didn't tell me things anymore. We communicated a little, over Carlos and things like that, but we were no longer living in a marriage. We were just two people in the same house. We never argued; we just never spoke to each other. Carlos grew up like that, and he didn't really see anything remiss about it. As for Christof's infidelities…they began at that point. Mistress after mistress. It was a very bad example for Carlos, but there was nothing I could do about it. To put it bluntly, he and I hadn't had sex for years. I ignored it, and grew more demanding and vindictive. I suppose I saw it as my revenge." Daniella paused and shrugged. "And there you go."

Troy shook his head. "No. What about Carlos's death?"

Daniella looked away. "Carlos was driving back from a friend's house in Portland when he lost control of the car and smashed into a tree." Her voice was almost a monotone.

"That was four years ago now. Since that time, Christof and I have argued openly. I blamed him for a long time, when it really wasn't his fault at all. I thought that if Carlos had never become involved in the business that maybe he wouldn't have died."

"And what about now? Why were you two…what happened yesterday?"

She bit her lip. "You have to understand that Christof and I have always loved each other. I don't know what went wrong, and I'll probably never know, but I do know that he still loves me…he might not be in love with me, but he does love me, and lately, he's been very kind to me. Very tender…I don't know, maybe he just wants to wrong some rights. Who knows?"

* * *

Friday morning, Troy told everybody he had some errands and left the house. He wasn't followed and that surprised him. He was fairly certain that Christof would want to check him out, but it seemed Mazio wasn't as suspicious as Troy had assumed. That was a weakness and Troy filed it away. He'd agreed to meet Simon at a café on the edge of town; it was full enough that they wouldn't be noticed, but not so full that there was a chance of anybody recognizing him. Simon was waiting when he got there, impatiently tapping his sunglasses against the table and looking restlessly around.

"Looking good in leather Simon," Troy said as he slid into the booth. The waitress approached them with two black coffees.

"I ordered for you," Simon told him, smiling up at the poor waitress who nearly dropped the coffee. She blushed and put the coffees down, then disappeared into the kitchen.

"She was ready to take you on the table," Troy told his friend. "All those women

who have fantasies about you for months. It's such a waste."

"Why?"

"Because when they get to know you, they realize it's me they wanted."

"Dream on Tomas," Simon said, using his name, just in case. "Anything to tell me?"

Troy then surmised his findings of the past few weeks.

"You've been busy," Simon whistled after Troy had finished. "What do you want me to do with all this information?"

Troy sipped his coffee, appreciating the bitter taste. "First of all, I want you to find out about Nick. I want to know more about his death and that sort of thing. I'm certain he was Laura Mazio's lover."

"Okay," Simon sniffed. "And…"

Troy swallowed. "I have this theory that I want to test out on you."

"Here we go," Simon sat up. "This should be fascinating."

"You're faith in me is duly noted," Troy rejoined sarcastically.

"Your intuition is right every time, but fuck, I hate going on your gut feeling. Most of the time there's only cold pizza and beer in your gut and we've planned entire stings on it."

"And made successful stings," Troy pointed out. "So my theory. Say that you're married."

"Well, already you've digressed in the realm of the fictional," Simon said bitingly.

Troy sighed. "I don't know if you actually got a high school degree, but we're dealing with something called a hypothetical. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Hypothetically, say that you're married."

"Is my wife beautiful?" Simon interrupted.

"What?"

"Is my wife beautiful?" Simon repeated. "I need to know…it's very important for me to have some understanding of my marriage."

Troy rolled his eyes and spelt patience in his mind over and over again. "Your wife is beautiful. The most beautiful woman most men have ever seen. You were lucky enough to land her, because she loves you, and you love her. Your marriage is great. I imagine you have sex two or three times a week and you're so deliriously happy that you don't care about the impending home loan, horrible children, and the nightmarish in-laws. You don't care about the financial difficulties that are about to set in, and you don't care that at fifty you'll probably commit suicide because life is too hard, your children are on drugs, your wife is wasting away from cancer and you're in debt up to your armpits. But right now, you're so in love, it makes people sick. There…you happy?"

"Deliriously," Simon told him.

"You love your wife to pieces and she becomes pregnant and you're over the moon. You've always wanted a son…"

"I have actually," Simon interrupted again. "A little Simon Jr., playing around in the back yard. I could take him to Redskin games."

"Let's deal with the pipe dream later, Daddy. And don't ever humiliate your child by calling him Simon Jr. It will make him feel inferior to you for the rest of his life."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "Let's get back to hypothetical, Dr. Bolton."

"Your son is born and you couldn't be any happier. You go off for a medical check-up. You know…the full deal. You get the routine one every year; you get the full works done every few years. Only, you discover that you have a very low sperm count."

"Ouch," Simon said.

"Yeah, ouch. Not only because it's insulting to your manhood, but because you start wondering how your wife got pregnant if you have a low sperm count and a slim to none chance of conceiving."

"Easy," Simon said, "My wife…my beautiful, gorgeous wife, whom I adore…has been banging around on me."

"Bingo!" Troy slapped his hand down on the table. "Wifey has been doing the horizontal mambo on the side. But you figure, okay, so my son probably isn't biologically mine, but it doesn't matter, because I can still be the best father ever…I can still raise him as my own.

"And my wife, who has chosen to stray, can become a very low priority. From now on, my marriage is about my son, but I still love my wife in my own way and she is my son's real mother, so I don't get rid of her. Plus you're Catholic and it just isn't done to get a divorce. So, you and your wife go on like this for years; until your son is grown, in fact. You're civil to each other, and you communicate about your son and you get along. The romance is gone and you never have sex, but you've been doing the nasty with your mistresses, so it all kind of balances out, even if your poor wife still loves you and becomes lonely and bitter. Still, life carries on."

"But…" Simon said, sensing the but coming.

"But," Troy said, "What happens if, when you're son is say, twenty-one or thereabouts, and you suddenly work out who his real father is. And his real father is your mortal enemy. We're talking Montague's and Capulet's here…full scale, total, out and out hatred. What do you do?"

"Shoot the fucker," Simon replied immediately.

"Say he's already dead."

"Shot the fucker's brother."

"He's dead too," Troy informed Simon. "What do you do?'

"I wonder about mortality rates. I don't know. I slap the wife around a little for picking that guy of all the guys she could have boned."

"But think," Troy said carefully. "Your son is actually from the blood of your mortal enemy. Your son is half of your mortal enemy and he is supposed to take over your name, your business, your honor. Everything that you've ever worked for."

"But he can't do that," Simon said in a grave, horrified voice, as dawning crept across his face. "My son can't do that if he's of my mortal enemy's blood."

"What do you do?"

"I kill my son."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Wherever You Are: Chapter Nine

When he got home, he found Sophie waiting on the front step.

"Hello Sophie," he said, picking her up and whirling her around. Her red curls bounced and she shrieked with laughter. For the rest of his life, Troy would never, ever get sick of the sound of a child's laugh. It reminded him that no matter all the horrible things he saw in the world, no matter how depressing reality was, some people kept on laughing. He held Sophie closer then normal and kissed her forehead. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.

Sophie looked upset. "There was yelling and I didn't want to be in the house. It was really loud."

"Yelling? Who was yelling, baby?"

"Grandpa and Uncle Elvis. And Aunty Gabriella was really upset. She came home for lunch, from work, and then there was a huge fight. Grandpa is really, really mad at Uncle Elvis."

"I'm sure that the fight has stopped now. Why don't we go inside and get you a chocolate chip cookie?"

"Yay!" Troy had never known that something so simple could make a child's day. Even the boys loved it when he bought them ice creams on the way home from school. They opened the front door and were greeted by silence. Troy had been right in assuming that the argument had finished. He walked confidently through the darkened front of the house and into the bright, sunny kitchen. There, he found Tony, Al and Isabel.

He went straight to the cupboard and got Sophie her cookie. "There you go, sweetheart. Why don't you go upstairs and do some pictures for me? I need something to hang in my bedroom."

"Okay," she happily went off, skipping up the stairs.

"I'll be up in a minute," he told her. As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to the three adults. "I heard World War Three broke out whilst I was gone."

"Close enough to," Isabel surmised.

"What happened?"

Al spoke up. "Last Wednesday, Michael was up late at night, and he was heading upstairs to get you, and he heard a fight between Elvis and Gabriella. But I don't need to tell you about it, because apparently you saved the day when Elvis was putting the hard word on a reluctant Gabriella."

Tony picked the story up. "Anyway, Michael told Christof this morning, Christof waited until Gabriella came home and then he called her and Elvis into his office and gave Elvis a dressing-down. You come in because Elvis claimed that you'd been trying to steal Gabriella from him and that Michael was exaggerating what he'd been doing to Gabriella."

Troy could feel his stomach turning to water. "Well…"

"Christof didn't buy it. You're his new hero and Elvis stormed off. Petro is in Christof's office, Gabriella went upstairs to Daniella, and Roberto went after Elvis. I think that Christof wants to see you though."

"Okay," Troy nodded, suddenly relieved. He made to leave, but Tony put a hand on his forearm.

"Tomas…you did the right thing. We all would have done the same. It doesn't matter who the guy is. Nobody should force themselves upon a woman. Don't let Elvis make you feel guilty."

"Be careful of him though," Al warned. "We'll all be keeping an eye out for you. You're okay in our book."

Isabel snorted. "Tomas, you're a hero in my book, and you prove that chivalry does still exist." She considered him with a titled head. "Even if it does have a five o'clock shadow."

"Thank you," Troy returned dryly, before heading for Christof's office. The door was open, and Petro was in there, talking in a quiet voice. Troy waited politely in the doorway until Christof nodded his head and beckoned him in.

"There you are Tomas. You were running errands?"

Troy nodded. "Just a few things to do. Send a postcard to my cousin in Detroit, get some new socks, and buy myself some toothpaste. All very boring."

Christof shrugged. "I don't know about that. Sometimes the boring things can be the best things. Sit down." Troy sat warily. "Don't be worried Tomas, I just wanted to say that you have my sincere thanks."

"For what?"

"For helping Ella out. She is a determined woman, but she often bites off more then she can chew and she isn't as wary of Elvis as she should be."

Troy shook his head. "She was doing okay and anybody else would have done the same thing. I'm certainly no hero."

"I disagree," Petro interjected. "Elvis is a man that not many people take on lightly. Considering his…position within the house, it could have severely backfired on you to put his nose out of joint. Instead, you thought of somebody else."

"No man should ever force himself upon a woman," Troy stated, "And it doesn't really matter who it is. I may not be perfect, but I have some scruples."

"And I'm glad you do," Christof said in a thankful voice. "And don't worry about any problems with Elvis. I'll be keeping a very close eye on him and making sure he stays in line. He won't have time to sit down let alone hassle you."

Troy rose, sensing a dismissal with Christof's words. "Thanks. Tension in any house is always horrible for everybody involved and I would really like to spare everybody, especially Gabriella, from something like that. She's been through enough."

"My thoughts exactly," Petro added with a serious nod. "I think that she wanted to see you."

Troy nodded. "I'll go and see her now."

"Tomas…wait," Christof called as Troy reached his door. Troy pivoted to face his boss. "Tomas…you have become valued in the household. Next time Petro, Tony and I have a meeting, you are to join us. I think we could use your opinion."

Troy nodded and walked down the hall, trying very hard to hide the victorious smile plastered across his face.

* * *

He found Gabriella sitting on his bed and immediately wiped the smile off his face.

"Good afternoon," he greeted her, noting the reflective expression on her face. "You should think about going back to work soon. You wouldn't want to get in trouble."

"Yes," she said in an absent voice. Troy pulled his jacket off and turned to hang it up in the closet.

"I spoke to Christof," he told her casually, not wanting to make any more out of this issue then already had been.

"Good," she replied, in the same absent voice, as if she was daydreaming or half-asleep. "What did he say?"

Troy shrugged laconically. "Just that I did the right thing and that Elvis wouldn't be allowed cause any problems because of this."

"Okay."

"And he thanked me for helping you out." She greeted him with silence. He was about to continue, when the next thing he knew, two long, slender pale arms were around his chest, holding him tight. He forgot to breathe for a minute, but she relaxed her vice grip, but still held on tightly. Gabriella rested intimately up against his back, burying her head in the gap between his shoulder blades, her scent circling around him and drifting up his nose.

"I'm sorry Troy," she said in a broken voice; she was close to tears. "I'm sorry that you got dragged into my mess and had to save me. And now Elvis hates you and everybody will act funny around you and it's my fault."

Pinned down as he was, Troy couldn't look her in the eyes and had to content himself with a view of his closet instead, desperately wanting to be able to look at her properly. "No, it's not," he disputed. "It's not your fault at all. It's Elvis's fault for trying something so stupid and not understanding that you just don't attack women in any way. You don't attack anybody in any way."

A few hot tears slipped onto his top and his whole body responded; when Gabriella cried, he couldn't bare it. "My life is just this great big, huge, awful mess," she sniffled.

He broke out of her grip then, and turned, pulling her against his chest fiercely, rendering her a mess of arms, legs and hair.

"No, it's not." His voice shook. "It's not. Don't ever say that. What happened to the strong Gabriella Montez who didn't take crap from anybody? Huh? Where did she go? I miss her."

She settled against him. "I don't know," Gabriella replied, her voice still small, but now steady. "I don't know," she repeated.

"I do." He ran his fingers through her loose hair. "You grew up…you found yourself associated with something you didn't like, with something that you're against. But you can't get out of it. And in order to save yourself from this awful thing, you've forgotten the real you. You've shut yourself away to protect yourself."

Gabriella's breathing was even and calm. There was a tiny inflection of sarcasm along with sorrow in her voice. "Am I gone forever?"

His laughter was soft, not mocking. "No. You just need to spend less time with the bad thing and you'll find yourself, tucked away somewhere in the recesses of your mind." Gabriella moved so close that her entire body was aligned against his. Troy fought for a long minute to stop thinking about the way that felt. He concentrated on her neck and found that was even worse.

"This place isn't so bad, Troy."

"No. And neither are the people. But the basis of this place is something different altogether." He stepped away carefully, before he did something he knew he would regret. She was vulnerable and wrapped in his arms and that was too much of a potent combination. "But we won't talk about that today. You have to go to work."

She nodded and wiped the last vestiges of her tears off her face. "Do you think…" she hesitated. "Do you think we could spend some more time together? Regardless of anything else…your new name and how I didn't really think it was a good idea for us to be seen together…I would really like to spend some time with you."

Troy didn't even have to think. "So would I."

Gabriella leaned up and kissed his cheek gently. "Thank you." Then her eyes narrowed. "But don't get any ideas."

"You know me," he returned. "I only have two brain cells. One's lost and the other's trying to find it."

"I'll see you tonight." He heard her retreat down the stairs and knew there would be problems. But for a brief second he didn't care.

* * *

Christof made true on his promise. Things were awkward in the house, but Mazio had Elvis running thirteen different directions, learning everything about the business, handling meetings, negotiations and shipments. The young man was run off his feet, and barely had time to scratch himself let alone sleep or hassle Gabriella and Troy. There were two advantages to this; one was that he left Troy well alone. Not just because Elvis didn't have time, but also because everybody in the house had made it patently clear whose side they were on. The other advantage was that Elvis didn't have time to take Gabriella out anymore.

Which freed her up to do things with Troy, and more often then not, Sophie and Allegra. Sometimes it was simple things; they folded laundry together, went out and bought ice cream, sat in the park, played cards. Sometimes they went out for dinner. He knew it would take time for Gabriella to break down her defenses, but time was something he did have – and patience, and compassion and affection and friendship and memories.

But more then anything, he found himself loving the time they did spend together. It would strike him every now and again how happy he was, and how long it had been since he truly felt that. He was working hard, but he was having fun. Troy also found that there was a strange quality to his time with Gabriella. The times they went out with Sophie and Allegra, he knew that both he and Gabriella were reverting to an idea of a family, and neither could help it. Sophie held his hand, Gabriella looked after the baby.

And even though it was wrong, there was nothing they could do about it.


	10. Chapter 10

Recap Because You're Prob Confused:

Troy has gone undercover to bring down the Mazio's, a mafia family. So, he got there, and found that Gabriella was living there. Gabriella and Troy have…A Past, where they slept together before going away to college. There are many colorful characters living in the Mazio house, and there is great mystery: Troy doesn't know what happened to Laura Mazio, or why Gabriella is with the Mazios, and the whole Christof/Daniella/Carlos debacle isn't clear yet. Oh, yeah, and then there's Elvis…and don't forget the cutie…Sophie, who has become Gabriella and Troy's responsibility.

Disclaimer: Nope.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 10

Summer arrived and after a week of hot weather, Troy went upstairs after dinner and found Gabriella sitting on the balcony. There wasn't much of a breeze, but it was better than being inside. Gabriella's back was to him, and he paused in the doorway to look at her, in her tank top and blue skirt, her hair running free. Her eyes were lidded over and her breaths were long and deep. He was filled with frustration at not being able to say everything he was thinking about her. She must have heard him or sensed him because she twisted and acknowledged him before facing back out onto the street.

"There you are," he said, walking out and standing directly behind her.

She looked up at him, exposing her neck, and smiled. "It's an interesting view," she told him as he looked down at her.

"I know I'm good-looking. You don't have to tell me," he replied. "Mind if I sit?" It was a large seat, but a bit squashy if two people sat on it. She nodded and shifted so that he could sit. She ended up with her legs slung over his lap, her feet dangling over the other armrest.

"Don't get any ideas," she told him. Then she concentrated and continued. "It's definitely noteworthy to think of the number of times I've said that to you."

"But is it a reflection upon me or you?"

She elbowed him sharply. "Definitely you. I have to keep warning you from doing anything."

"I think you're the one who actually gets the ideas about what I'd do to you."

Gabriella let that one slide, not wanting to go any further into what she thought Troy could or would do to her, and watched a young couple walking on the opposite side of the road. They turned the corner and disappeared into the darkness.

"Gabriella…" Troy called her back. "Do you remember when we were teenagers?"

Gabriella looked at him. "Ah…I remember going ice-skating and trying to stay up all night on Christmas Eve to try and see Santa Claus. I remember wishing on the first snowfall, making a tent out of sheets and Chad's table, I remember you trying to kiss me when we were about seven and Ryan got so mad he punched you. I remember baking cookies with your mom and learning how to hammer a nail your dad. I could go on with this jumble of memories forever…you want to give me a specific?"

Troy rolled his eyes. "I was getting there before you interrupted me. When we were growing up and rained, and we'd already seen _The Wizard of Oz_ about three thousand times, and you and I revolted, and wanted to do something else, my mom would get those old jigsaw puzzles out. They got harder as we got older, and we'd sit at the dining room table and put them together, while outside it rained."

Gabriella nodded. "I remember. She made hot chocolate and she and your dad subtly helped us and took pictures of the finished product."

"Yeah." There was obviously more to this.

"I'm sensing some kind of metaphor going on here?"

"Oh, you're good," Troy told her, turning to face her and flashing a smile. Gabriella forced herself not to throw herself at him. "Don't you ever feel that life is one big puzzle? That life is just a collection of bits and pieces that sort of make sense…and you have the big picture to work from, but nothing quite connects."

"I know exactly what you mean," Gabriella said quietly. "Only there's nobody making hot chocolate and no one gently pointing out how things go together. And no one to take a picture of the finished product."

"That's the thing," Troy said. "I don't know if there'll ever be a finished product. I keep running from something Gabriella, but I don't know what it is. I'm frightened of something, but I don't know what it is."

Gabriella's eyes caught his and her green melded into his blue. "Trust. Love. Commitment. Giving something of yourself to another person for fear that it won't be reciprocated."

"Oh, you're good," Troy repeated satirically. "That's all great, but it doesn't help fix any of those problems."

"I hate to get all soppy on you, but only you can fix those problems."

"I hate for you to get all soppy on me as well. The vomit-meter on that one was about six out of ten."

The night had that feeling of divulging feelings, and whilst Gabriella had never really been one for complete openness, it always felt natural with Troy. Like she should be telling him these things, because there wasn't anybody else to talk to.

"Do you know what my greatest fear is?" she asked.

"It used to be snakes," he remembered.

"Actually, it used to be you," she replied. "No…when I was a child everything used to be bigger. Trees were safe because they were bigger. And adults were like Gods…because they were taller and wider and stronger they knew everything and I was safe. I never had to do everything for myself. I wasn't responsible for me. Now…I'm the bigger person. I'm taller then Sophie and Allegra and Michael and Benito. I have to be responsible for myself, and I get so frightened that I'll never find someone to share that with…that fear. That nobody else will ever be bigger then me…that I'll always be on my own."

It was like being dizzy to get that thought out of her head. For so long she'd been frightened that she would never find anybody to share herself with.

"Gabriella…" he trailed off, trying to find the words. They sat there in silence. Then Troy pulled her to her feet, and she fell heavily against him. He caught her in his arms, holding her so close she'd thought every rib in her body would break.

"Can't breathe…"

He released his grip a little. "I'm taller then you," he said. "I'm about six inches taller then you. That makes me bigger then you. And see our hands…" he placed their palms together, "My hands are bigger then yours. My shoulders are wider then yours. My legs are longer then yours…your pelvis hits at the top of my thigh. And okay…so your brains are bigger then mine, but we'll ignore that.

"But see this…" and he placed a hand on her smaller back, pulling her flush against his heat, inciting all kinds of thoughts. "You fit inside of me."

He was right, Gabriella realized with wonder. He was absolutely right. Her hips fit within the cradle of his pelvis. She actually fit within him. Their muscles connected at the right points, her knees locked within his, her shoulders melded into his chest, her head into his neck.

"You're right," she said.

"Yeah. I'm right. And I don't tell you this because you should become dependent upon me. I tell you this because you should know that I'm here…taller than you are and bigger than you are. Not better then you, but if you need somebody to be bigger then you for a few seconds, then I'm here."

Gabriella closed her eyes and smiled, twining her arms tighter around his waist, letting her hair fall across his shoulder. She felt him breathe beneath her, calm and reassuring, strong and determined.

Her senses relaxed and softened, yet she was heightened in every way: to the feel of his five o'clock shadow, his unique smell of spice and leather, the roughened pads on his fingers on her bare arms.

"But will you always be here?" she questioned.

"I hope so."

"I hope so too."

They probably stood there for five minutes, but to Troy and Gabriella it was an eternity and it was everything.

* * *

Daniella sighed with something close to envy and retreated back into her bedroom. Hearing Gabriella and Tomas's conversation had reminded of things Christof had said to her when she was younger. Some of it had made her ears burn. Even now her stomach jumped at the memory of his rough voice saying her name. But some of what he had said to her had made her want to weep with its tender sincerity. Somewhere in their marriage, she'd lost one of the greatest gifts she'd ever had – Christof's love. She just couldn't work out why.

Now she was a forty-six-year old woman, whose hair was beginning to turn grey, whose skin was beginning to wrinkle, whose body was beginning to show the signs of time's passage. She was an aging woman who was alone, without anything to show for her life, and even thought she could start again, Daniella didn't know if she had the energy or the will to put herself through it all over again.

As for Gabriella and Tomas knowing each other, Daniella had known there was something strange between them. It didn't concern her. They deserved their privacy and their secret was safe with her. She went downstairs and hoped she'd find somebody to talk to. Daniella didn't feel like being alone right now.

* * *

Troy made it downstairs for breakfast early the next day and found Isabel and Gabriella still eating. Gabriella seemed engrossed in the article she was reading, and Isabel and Troy made small talk, idly chatting about nothing. They were discussing names when Gabriella paid attention.

"All good female Italian names end in A," Troy stated, pouring some orange juice.

"That is so not true," Isabel disputed.

Gabriella chimed in. "I agree with him. Think about all the female Italian names there are. They all end in A."

"They don't!"

"They do," Troy replied. "Gabriella, Daniella, Antoniella, Antonia, Andrea, Sylvia, Marissa, Lena, Adriana, Luciana, Octavia, Perdita, Valeria, Christina, Portia, Viola, Nerissa, Maria, Rosana…" he trailed off.

Gabriella continued. "Victoria, Francesca, Julia, Lucetta, Paullina, Cressida, Olivia, Desdemona, Mariana, Emilia, Ophelia, Allegra, Sophia, Katharina, Bianca…" she too ran out of names.

"Isabel," she said with triumph. "My name doesn't end with an A."

Daniella smiled, waltzing in the kitchen. "Actually, Isabel comes from Isabella. Her full name is really Isabella, nice try though."

Isabel thought again and then she really did smile. "Anthony," she replied sweetly, and she returned to her newspaper.

* * *

The next morning, Troy awoke late; it was nearly eleven by the time he stirred from underneath his sheet and had a shower. It was a Wednesday, which meant that nobody was in the house. Today was the day for inspection of business and Tony, Petro, Al, Christof and probably Elvis had all disappeared.

Isabel went out everyday. She was writing her thesis and had research to do at the library, and Gabriella of course, worked at her law firm. Daniella was looking after the children, and he waved as he walked down from the third floor.

"Good morning," he said to her.

"Morning," she returned. Sophie heard him and came running.

"Tommy," she cried and he swung her up into his arms.

"Good morning Ms. Mazio." She giggled. "And how are you this fine summer morn?"

"I'm good," Sophie said, "But I'm hungry."

"Hungry?" He balanced her on a hip with one arm and cupped the other hand to his ear. "Do I hear the cry of a hungry girl?"

"Yes," she replied, in fits of laughter.

"Fear not." Troy puffed out his chest and bounded down the stairs. "Super Food Man to the rescue."

Five minutes later, he'd fed her, she'd stopped laughing and he'd had his first infusion of caffeine. The day was beginning to look wonderful. Outside, the birds were singing, the trees were green, and it was so _It's a Wonderful Life_ that Troy expected Jimmy Stewart to pop up at any moment.

"How about we go out?" he asked her.

Sophie needed no further encouragement or persuasion. "Yeah! Let's go to the park, and then to the toy shop. And can we have lunch at a rester."

"A what?" He held her hand as they went back up the stairs.

"You know," she said in an aggravated voice. "A rester…you have lunch there, and there's a piece of paper with food on it and you eat like at home, but not. It's a rester."

"A restaurant," he realized. "It's a restaurant, baby. And of course we can. You'll have to get dressed up."

That sent Sophie into fits of heavenly delight. "I'll be finished soon," she told him, already telling Daniella about how she was going to eat a rester.

"I'll come and collect you in ten minutes," he said, getting a nod from Daniella.

Troy raced back downstairs towards the kitchen, when he heard Elvis's voice from down the hallway, in one of the offices. Curious, Troy followed the sound until he reached Tony's office. The door was open a little, and he pressed himself against the wall, knowing that Elvis couldn't possibly see him.

"I know…I know…" he was saying. "Yes. I hadn't planned on it either," he told the person on the other end of the line. The reply was obviously sharp because Elvis straightened, standing up tall, although the speaker couldn't see him.

"I didn't know about him…I didn't know he was that good," Elvis protested. "But we've been over this before." The pause was tense, and then Elvis relieved as the speaker went on to another topic. After listening in silence, Elvis spoke up.

"Well…I have a few things to pass on. Nothing big is happening for a while, but the hassling is causing a problem anyway. If I meet you in say…" Elvis glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes, at the usual spot…that should be alright?"

His answer was obviously affirmative, because Elvis quickly said goodbye and put the phone down.

Troy skulked away, trying to walk normally. When he reached the kitchen, he leant against the bench, desperately trying to think. He had to follow Elvis.

* * *

Sophie sat chattering in the backseat, and Troy screened most of what she was saying and concentrated on Elvis's Mercedes. There were four cars separating them, and Troy knew that Elvis hadn't spotted him.

"Where's the park?" Sophie demanded suddenly.

"I don't know…I might be lost," he said. Elvis's indicator flashed and Troy and Elvis turned right together, with a Ford and a Triumph between them. They'd only been traveling for five minutes, and they weren't very far away from the house.

"Lost? You couldn't get lost," Sophie scoffed. "You're an adult. Adults never get things wrong."

Troy raised an eyebrow. "Adults get things wrong all the time Sophie. All the time. Just because I'm grown up doesn't mean that I'm suddenly perfect."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

As they passed Neiman's, Elvis took a sharp turn left, into the car park, and Troy again followed, keeping a close eye on Elvis. There were cars everywhere. It was a Friday morning and every woman, man, child and dog must have been out shopping, Troy decided. He hated shopping, but realized that Elvis had made a good choice for his meeting place. In shopping centers, there were thousands of people and nobody ever looked twice. Faces passed in a blur, and nothing was distinguished. Nobody would ever be able to recall with certainty that they had seen Elvis, even if they knew him. Troy pulled into a parking-space, trying hard not to lose Elvis, who was already opening his car door.

"Why are we here?" Sophie asked, as he got her out of the car, checked that he had his wallet and put the alarm on.

Elvis was disappearing through the entrance and Troy hurried after him. "There's a special toy shop here," he told her, praying that was actually any kind of toy shop here.

They joined the crowds. The weather was beginning to seriously warm up and people sweated, complained and generally hated the middle of the day. Everywhere Troy looked there were shrieking children. Elvis was easy to follow from a distance; he was all and walked with such a swagger that Troy could spot him fifteen feet away.

"Where's the toy shop?" Sophie demanded.

"Uh…" Elvis headed into a café and sat down at the front table. Troy looked around, and by luck, across from the café, was a huge toy shop. "There it is, Soph! Let's go and have a look. You can have anything you want."

He put her down and let her run loose; she headed straight for the Barbie aisle like a woman on a mission. Standing at the head of the aisle, he could keep an eye on both Sophie and Elvis with relative ease. Ten minutes passed, as Sophie deliberated over Sparkle and Shine Barbie, or Mermaid Barbie.

"Which one?" she asked him, holding up both bright pink boxes, with their gaudy writing, nearly falling over under the weight. "Mermaid or Sparkle and Shine?'

"I don't know," he answered, trying to keep an eye on Elvis. "Which one is prettier?"

"Sparkle and Shine," Sophie answered. "But Mermaid Barbie can swim in the water…she could go in the bath with me."

"Well…" Elvis was still alone, and Troy bent down to look Sophie in the eye. "You pick the one you want, and you might get lucky and score the other one for your birthday."

Sophie caught on quickly. "I'll take Mermaid Barbie today." She traipsed back down the aisle, filled with little girls with wide eyes, astounded at all the pink, all the accessories and all the choices there were. She returned, clutching Mermaid Barbie in both hands, like it might disappear at any minute. They walked towards the cash register and joined the long, snaking queues. Until they reached the checkout, Elvis was alone. But when Troy looked up from giving the perky, blonde checkout chick the money, Elvis had company, in the form of a female.

She had honey-colored hair that fell across her face, and she was side-on to him. He couldn't place her simply from her profile. They left the store and Troy headed away from the café, stooping to pick Sophie up so that they could move faster. When he reached a safe distance, he turned back and got a proper look at Elvis's companion. Sophie was incessantly asking him a question, but he didn't hear a word she was saying.

The woman sitting opposite Elvis Mazio, looking like a good friend or lover was Victoria Del Torio.

* * *

When Troy returned home, he found that Al and Roberto had also returned, and were in the living room, in front of the fan. Sophie raced upstairs to show her grandmother her Mermaid Barbie, giving Troy a big kiss and a hug and thanking him for buying her a Barbie and taking her to a rester.

"Big tough men in front of the fan," Troy said in a mocking voice, walking into the living room and sitting down. "It's not that hot."

"I see you, Sophie and Barbie all had a good day," Roberto said.

Troy shrugged. "Barbie's got a crush on me. What do you know about the Del Torios?"

Al and Roberto were obviously surprised by the question. "The Del Torios?" Roberto repeated. "What do you want to know about them for?"

"I figure it'd probably help me if I knew more about them."

"Oh." Al's brow furrowed. "The head of the Del Torios used to be Aldo Del Torio. He was like Christof, except he didn't bear a son. Only a daughter, Victoria. He and Christof fought over territory and everything else, but they had enormous respect for each other as enemies. As they say – keep your friends close…"

"And your enemies closer," Troy completed the saying. "Keep going."

Al sighed. "Anyway, Victoria fell in love with Carlos."

"As in Christof's son, Carlos?" Troy verified.

"The very one," Roberto confirmed.

"Oh dear."

"Oh dear is right," Al responded. "They were only eighteen at the time, and to Carlos it was just a passing affair. Another of his conquests. To Victoria it was something more. She was serious about it, even though she knew it was impossible for them to be together."

"What happened?"

"He started seeing another woman," Al said slowly, as if trying to recall. "And Victoria decided to get even. She took over from her father and has now made it her life's business to make us pay for something that Carlos did to her. Even thought Carlos is dead, she hasn't given up on revenge."

Troy let out a long breath. "You don't think that she killed Carlos do you?" he asked, hoping the question didn't sound too leading.

"No," Al shook his head. "She was in love with him; she never would have killed him. She blames Christof and Daniella for turning Carlos against her, and subsequently she blames the rest of the family."

Troy tilted his head. "Well…thanks. You guys have a good day?"

"Yeah," Al said in a non-committal voice. "Elvis was supposed to be with us, but he bailed at the last minute, which meant we had to do his work for him. And Christ, it's hot out there."

"It hasn't even hit 85 yet," Troy pointed out. "You're just a weakling Al Mazio. You too, Berto."

"Whatever you say," Roberto growled. "You weren't out there, moving boxes, were you?"

"No," Troy smiled sweetly. "I wasn't. I'm going upstairs…I have something to discuss with Barbie."

"Have fun," Al called after him. "And you be good to her. If you even think about hurting that girl, I'll rip your heart out."

"Sure," Troy replied sarcastically, as he walked upstairs. "You and whose army?"

"America's," yelled Al.

Roberto snorted. "They wouldn't let you near the army. You'd corrupt America's defense force."

"And it'd be about damn time."

* * *

Troy was sitting in his bedroom that afternoon, trying to work out what the hell Elvis Mazio was doing with Victoria Del Torio, when Gabriella came bursting in, looking like she was either going to vomit, pass out, or chug a bottle of Jack Daniels in under a minute. Or all three at the same time.

"Gabriella?" He stood up and took in her appearance, forcing her to sit down on his bed before she fell down. "What's wrong? What's happened? Gabriella?"

She was a dreadful grey-white color, and he put his arm around her, trying to keep her warm.

"Laura…" she began, but she trailed off. "She…Laura…" Gabriella swallowed and tried again, her voice breaking and climbing up a few octaves. "The phone…the hospital…oh, you don't know that she was in the hospital…Sophie…Petro said that Laura had…"

Troy knew what she was going to say, but he sat beside her and waited patiently. "What happened to Laura?"

Gabriella looked at him with wide brown eyes, her hands shaking, reaching out for him. "She…she's dead."


	11. Chapter 11

AN: So obviously I'm going to finish posting it and I'm glad everyone wanted me to...anyways, keep reading and reviewing! Thanks!

Disclaimer: Obvioulsy, not mine.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 11

All Troy could see was row after row of black. It was like something out of _Donnie Brasco_ or _The Godfather_. Strikingly beautiful women with veils over their faces, wiping their tears with lace handkerchiefs and chatting amongst themselves. Men in expensive black suits, talking in soft voices – probably discussing business. Subdued children sitting quietly in the pews, as mourner after mourner came to the view the meticulously laid out body. Troy finally understood how a funeral could be a sign of power amongst the Mafia. Nothing had been spared – Laura's oak coffin was a black velvet dais, surrounded by tall candles, masses of white lilies. The order of service was long and impressive, with the Archbishop taking the service as a sign of the Mazio's control in the church.

Laura had died during an earthquake. It hadn't been a big one, but she'd been in bed and on the shelf above her, there was an old, heavy alarm clock. It had hit her on the head, causing inter-cranial bleeding and she had died in her sleep. The nurse had found her the next morning. It was such a strange way to go, especially considering that she was at the Pacific Center.

Sophie sat on his lap, and Gabriella was beside him, as Petro, Christof and Daniella greeted people at the chapel doors. Isabel was nursing Allegra on the other side of Troy, with Roberto and Al. The rest of the line continued – beside Al was Elvis, then Tony, Michael and finally Benito. Beside him, he could feel Gabriella's impatience and anger as well, pushing through her body into his. She was the only woman not wearing a veil, and had on a simple black dress with a knee-length hem. She wore no jewelry. Troy laced his hand through hers, understanding that death – anybody's death – was always going to be difficult for Gabriella.

Troy had dressed Sophie himself this morning, in her black dress with the white collar, her curls falling around her face. In fact, he'd done everything with her for the past four days. He hadn't let her out of his sight. He'd slept with her, bathed her and eaten with her. The concept of death was very hard to explain to a four-year-old. Sophie couldn't quite seem to grasp the idea that she would never see her Mommy again, and she kept asking why everybody was so sad. Right now, she sensed that it was time to be quiet and she rested back against Troy, curling into his lap.

"Daddy looks real funny," she whispered to him, in a child's whisper, which meant that everybody could hear. "What's going on?"

Troy held her closer, still keeping his hand laced through Gabriella's. "I told you this morning, Soph. Do you remember what we talked about?"

She thought for a long moment to recall. "We talked about going away and never coming back. You said that Mommy had gone away and she wasn't coming back, but she would still be with me."

"That's right," he told her, dropping a soft kiss on the top of her head. "That's right, Sophie."

The little girl sighed. "It's called dead isn't it? Like the cat next door, which stopped being live, and she was dead. I couldn't see her no more, but I can remember her sometimes."

"Yeah," Gabriella said weakly. "It's called dead."

"Did your someone dead?" Sophie asked curiously, turning to look up at Gabriella as well as Troy.

"Yes," Gabriella answered. "My father died," she corrected gently. "I was older then you…I was older then Michael, and my father died from something called cancer."

"Do you miss him?"

"Very much," Gabriella replied.

"My Mommy died as well," Troy added.

"She did?" Gabriella asked, looking at him, lowering her voice. "I didn't hear that. When?"

"A few years ago," he informed her. "It was a brain tumor. She was diagnosed right towards the end; she lasted a few more months. Long enough to have Christmas with the entire family."

Gabriella smiled. "Your mother would have loved that."

Troy hadn't really thought about his mother's death a lot. He had grieved and he missed her, but she'd been so quiet most of his life that Troy didn't miss her as much as he would have if she'd been a dominant figure. "My father hasn't been the same since. Ironic really."

Gabriella's fingers tightened around his. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Do you miss your Mommy?" Sophie interjected.

"Sometimes," Troy replied. "I remember her very well. It's important to remember the people who go away who go away from us."

Daniella, Christof and Petro took their seats as the last of the congregation arrived and the Archbishop entered, splendid in his full ceremonial robes. Troy watched with subtle interest when Christof took Daniella's hand in his and smiled at his wife with open eyes. She returned the smile and shifted closer to him. The service began.

* * *

The days began to coalesce into one another after that. Sophie took up his time. Although she was too young to really grieve for her mother, or even truly miss her, Troy still tried to be with her as much as possible. Nobody in the house said a word about Sophie being solely Gabriella and Troy's responsibility; nobody said a word about Petro removing himself entirely from his daughter. Petro had grieved in his own way. Like Daniella had pointed out, theirs had been a marriage of convenience, but Petro had felt something for his wife and did miss her, Troy realized.

Troy himself, had more responsibilities in the business to take care of. His rise in the hierarchy meant that he often planned things with Al and Roberto now, and went around looking after various parts of the business with Tony. It meant he spent more time with Elvis, but Troy dealt with that easily.

Troy hadn't really stopped to consider his morals – it would be too sticky if he did, but he was aware that he committing many crimes, all under the justification of stopping those crimes once and for all. It was also morally dubious to be making friendly with these people – some of whom he genuinely liked, when he was actually going to destroy their livelihood.

It depressed him at moments, but Troy didn't allow thoughts like that to stay with him and weigh him down for very long. His capacity to ignore and move on astounded even himself sometimes. The matter of Elvis and Victoria didn't become any clearer. He passed the information on to Simon in the middle of July. He wouldn't see the other agent again until the end of August. He kept very close tabs on Elvis who didn't meet with another member of Del Torios over the summer.

The summer was boiling; they often went to the beach to find some relief from the temperatures that reached the high nineties and often over the hundreds in July and August. It was the end of July when the problems really began. A lot of information passed to their contacts was apparently unreliable; they lost support, and two or three of their smaller businesses collapsed. It wasn't enough to truly warrant a crisis situation, but it pissed Christof off. They couldn't work out what was happening, and they couldn't work out a way to prevent it.

Everybody became agitated and Christof became impossible to live with. He and Daniella screeched at each other from opposite ends of the house, and she spent most of her time vowing never to look at him again. The irony of having a real Italian opera played out before him didn't escape Troy. What struck him about the situation was that Daniella could have comforted and mollified Christof, but he'd turned her away.

Troy had always been nonchalant about the institution of marriage. He'd seen far too many failed marriages to believe wholeheartedly in the vows and the piece of paper. But living in a household with Daniella and Christof had made him reconsider how he felt about marriage. At some point, Daniella and Christof had adored each other, and to see how their marriage had turned out saddened him.

The other constant thing that summer was Gabriella. And she suddenly wasn't Gabriella in the friend sense anymore. Troy was completely aware of what was happening. They weren't falling in love, but they certainly weren't avoiding it. She was everywhere, and he was always with her. Watching her run ice cubes down her top, tackling her in the ocean when they swam, going out to movies with her, falling asleep on the couch with her and waking at three in the morning to find her head nestled against his shoulder.

His attraction for her had always been part of their friendship; that had been the spark, the fire and the passion that made their relationship unique, but it had been the kind of attraction that hadn't really been serious. It had just existed, in the back of his mind, in the back of her mind, and it hadn't meant anything. It was their ability to understand each other that had cemented their friendship. Even their night together had been more of a goodbye then a desperate admittance of a burning desire. Or at least Troy told himself that. But now the attraction took on a whole new dimension. Where once she had been beautiful, she became stunning. Troy began to entertain thoughts of kissing her until neither of them could breathe, of running his hand down the back of her neck just to see what her response would be.

Where once he had enjoyed her company, he found himself needing it. He missed her when she wasn't around. He spent all his spare time with her. He created reasons for them to do things together, just so he could hear her laugh, and see her bite her lip, or watch her think with her forehead creased and her eyes a dark chocolate brown.

And he could feel his attraction becoming more. But just like everything else, he ignored it in the hope that it would go away. And he played into it, because he just couldn't help himself. He wondered if he should book himself into the Pacific Center, because he couldn't remember ever having an obsession for a woman like this.

* * *

The last day of July, Troy awoke at ten o'clock and found that Daniella, Sophie, Allegra, he and Elvis were the only people in the house. He realized that it had been a Wednesday the last time Elvis had met with Victoria Del Torio. He went downstairs to eat breakfast, deciding to keep a close eye on things. At the kitchen table, he found Elvis with a cup of coffee, reading the comics with an amused smile on his face.

"Morning," Troy said politely, pouring himself a cup of coffee and putting some bread in the toaster. There were only the crusts left, and he made a mental note to buy a loaf today.

"Morning," Elvis replied in a short voice. "Sleep well?"

The man's efforts to be civil amused Troy no end, but he nonetheless maintained his own polite attitude. "Very well thank you."

"You sleeping with her?"

Rather then act shocked, Troy checked the clock. "Your civility lasted five seconds. Well done." He didn't answer the question and collected his toast instead, knowing it would infuriate the cocky man.

"Well?" Elvis prompted. "Are you?"

"Didn't you hear us?" he asked. "I was sure she was going to wake the dead." He spread the honey over the white toast. "See, some women are like that…if you…press the right buttons," he finally opted for that expression. "But then again, you probably wouldn't know about that."

Elvis didn't miss the innuendo. "I'd know more about that then you ever would."

"That I seriously doubt," Troy told him. "Gabriella has this great birthmark. It's on the inside of thigh…shaped like a pear. And you wouldn't believe how ticklish she is."

"You're lying."

He eyeballed Elvis. "Am I?"

"You haven't slept with her," Elvis continued. "Though you'd probably like to," he added.

"Any guy with any kind of functioning libido would like to sleep with Gabriella. You're no exception."

"She's never going to go near me again, thanks to you," Elvis said in a bitter voice.

"You can't blame me for that," Troy pointed out. "You're the one who assaulted her."

"I didn't assault her," Elvis defended. "You just made it seem like that. She wanted it."

"No," Troy disputed. "She didn't. Not like that. I don't know how many women you've slept with, but when they're struggling and saying no, it usually means that they don't like it."

Elvis, having no reply to that, resorted to insulting him. "She'll never sleep with you Tomas."

Troy smiled. "Then I guess we're in the same boat. Difference is, I'm not going to force her to do anything she doesn't want."

"Oh…we're different in many other ways," Elvis replied.

"And I don't have a problem with that."

Elvis made to leave the kitchen, knowing he couldn't fight his way out of this one.

"By the way," Troy continued, and Elvis paused in the doorway. "Gabriella goes wild when you kiss the dip in her clavicle."

Elvis stormed away, getting into his car and driving off. Troy followed, balancing his toast and his coffee as he got into the car.

* * *

This time, Elvis Mazio and Victoria Del Torio met in a park and Troy rolled his eyes over their stupidity or unobservant nature that led to sit on a park bench in front of a clump of high bushes. Taking the long route and coming up behind them, he hid behind the bushes and felt like a character from _Get Smart_. Then he reminded himself that being an FBI agent was rarely as easy as this, and he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"How much longer?" Elvis was asking.

"These things don't happen overnight," Victoria answered irritably. "You want me to help you, you have to take my advice and wait until things are really bad. Only then can you sail in and take control." She snorted. "At the moment you've got about as much chance of knocking Christof off as you have finally nailing that brunette you like."

"Gabriella," Elvis said tersely. "And don't say nailing."

"Well, you hardly want to marry her and have 2.3 children, do you?" Elvis made no reply and Victoria continued. "We'll step up the campaign soon. But for now, we need to back off. We go in again too soon and Christof will get suspicious. He's not a stupid man."

"No," Elvis agreed sourly. "He's not."

"If he was stupid," Victoria surmised, "He would probably give you control. You realize that there's no other way for you to get the business now. After the crap you've pulled, Christof is ready to give the business to that annoying grandson of his…Benito."

"Don't remind me," Elvis told her in a surly voice.

"Hey!" she protested. "You're paying me to help you, not be your best friend. Actually, I've been thinking about this. He might end up giving the business to Tomas."

Elvis obviously hadn't considered that scenario. "What?" he screeched.

"Keep your voice down," Victoria ordered him mildly. "Yeah. Tomas is a good guy. Smart, ruthless, efficient. More then I can say for you sometimes. He gets on well with everybody. Has vision, common sense; all of those things that Christof is looking for. Plus, from what I can gather, Tomas gets on well with Daniella."

"So?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Victoria asked in a pitying voice. "Christof still loves his wife. He adores her and ever since Tomas has showed up, Daniella's been a little nicer to Christof. She's got off his case. Which is the most he can ask for."

"He loves her?"

Victoria stood up. "Thank God I'm not going into business with you," she said sarcastically. "I'll talk you in about a month."

She walked off. Elvis left a few minutes later, shaking his head.

Behind the bushes, Troy watched them leave and wondered why things had to be so damn complicated in the Mazio household. If Gabriella wasn't there, then it was Elvis and his shady deals, Christof and killing his son, and funny things going on with Laura Mazio, Petro and the very dead Nicolo.

* * *

That night, Troy and Daniella were sitting on her balcony, drinking lemonade with a healthy dose of vodka, when somebody walked through the French doors and joined them. Turning simultaneously, Troy and Daniella saw the very last person they expected.

"Tomas," he said in a calm voice. "Del," he turned to his wife. Christof then sat down in one of the chairs beside Daniella. "Is there enough lemonade for me?"

"It's spiked with a little vodka," Daniella told him a low voice.

"Sounds fine," he replied. She poured him a glass and handed it to him. They sat in silence and Troy wondered how to extract himself without making it obvious.

"Del," Christof began.

"Yes Christo?"

"Did you ever have an affair with Aldo Del Torio?"

Troy nearly choked on his drink.

To her credit, Daniella didn't even raise an eyebrow, let alone drop her glass. She took another sip of her drink and put it down before turning to look at her husband. "No. I didn't."

"Okay."

"Christo?"

"Yes Del?"

"Did you think that I had an affair with Aldo Del Torio?"

Christof didn't hesitate. "Yes, I did."

"And was that because of lack of trust in me, or lack of self-esteem?"

Christof's laugh was unguarded and almost happy. "That's my beautiful Del. Always hitting the nail on the head." He took a sip. "Probably a little bit of both," he finally told her.

Troy stood. "Well…I better get going. It's time for Sophie to go to bed." He beat a hasty retreat, closing Daniella's bedroom door behind him.

"He did that well," Christof said with a smile.

"Sophie went to bed an hour and a half ago," Daniella returned in a dry voice. "That's what it was with Carlos wasn't it? You thought that Aldo was his father, didn't you?" There was no reproach in her voice.

Christof licked his lips. "Yes. I thought for that many years, though I wasn't sure. I…have a very low sperm count Del. I found out after Carlos was born. And you'd been seen with Aldo."

"Before we were married," she pointed out softly. "Did you do it? Did you…Carlos…the accident…"

"No," he told her immediately. "Never Del. I wouldn't do that. Not to you."

"It was the Del Torios."

"Probably."

They both listened to Isabel and Roberto return home, kissing fiercely at the front door before going inside.

"Why now? Why are you asking now, when you've left it all these years?" Daniella asked.

He shrugged. "Yesterday, I thought…why don't I just ask her? I've spent all these years certain you must have had an affair and I never once asked you. That seemed kind of silly. We used to talk about everything."

"We did," Daniella agreed, finishing her drink. Very carefully, she laid her hand over Christof's. "It was always you. It always has been."

"Too many years lost," he sighed ruefully, noting how the skin on her hand hadn't changed a bit and was just as smooth and supple. He ran his finger over her palm, following the fading lines.

"Then don't waste any more time regretting it Christo." Daniella pulled him to his feet, standing close to him in the summer air, her perfume wonderfully familiar. "I missed you," she whispered a few seconds later.

And with that he kissed her like he had done it everyday for the last twenty-one years, instead of just wishing he had.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 12

It definitely changed things, with Daniella and Christof getting along. Christof positively beamed, and went through the days like a teenager with his first crush. Daniella took even more care with her appearance, and stopped complaining. It certainly didn't stop the two of them from ribbing each other. In many ways, Daniella and Christof reminded Troy of Gabriella and himself.

Everybody was happier, there were more family outings, and Daniella and Christof took the children out to dinner and to the park. All the problems that had plagued them over the recent months didn't disappear, but suddenly they didn't matter so much.

Even Elvis looked happier. Troy watched him like a hawk now, knowing that he was using Victoria Del Torio to harass Christof, make him weak, so that Elvis could take over the business. Victoria was doing it because she knew that she could never beat Christof, but once Elvis was in charge, she'd been able to take him down without a problem. This whole family was just one big headache, Troy decided.

Gabriella was very happy that Daniella and Christof were getting along, and Troy discovered that he was as well. It was nice to believe that they could be together even after all this time. It proved to him, on some level, that people could be happy together, no matter what had gone before.

* * *

On the third weekend of August, Troy went away on the Thursday to Portland, where he had to meet a supplier and organize a contract. He returned Sunday afternoon and immediately went to find Gabriella, pulling his jacket off and dropping it in his bedroom door.

He found her, Sophie, and Allegra sitting on the balcony of the third floor. Sophie was complaining about the heat and drawing pictures, Gabriella was sucking an ice cube and reading a book, and Allegra was in the shade, sleeping in her bassinet. He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of his three favorite ladies.

Sophie saw him first. "Tommy!" she cried, jumping up and launching herself at him. "You're home!"

"Oof…" he exhaled. "Yeah, I am," he finally replied, when he'd got his breath back.

"I drew you a picture, because I knew you were coming home."

"Did you? Where is it?" She slid out of his arms and raced across the balcony. She held up a piece of paper with bright colorful blobs on it. "It's beautiful Sophie! Thank you very much."

"You're entirely welcome," she replied, illustrating her extensive vocabulary, before returning to her crayons and humming a song. He bent and kissed Allegra, noting that she seemed to have grown even though he'd only been gone for three days.

He flopped down next to Gabriella and rolled his sleeves up. His suit had been mandatory for the trip, and he'd sweltered and inwardly complained the whole time, pulling his jacket off and untucking his shirt the second he'd climbed in the car to go home.

"Hi. How are you?" he asked. Troy began pulling at his tie, but he ended up just yanking at the knot.

"Hot," she replied, putting her book down. "Missed you."

"No you didn't," he disputed with a grin. "You were too hot to miss me." She nodded. "Anything interesting happen whilst I was away?"

"No. Life went on. As much as that might surprise you," she added with a malicious smile.

Troy let it pass, concentrating on his tie. She offered him an ice cube and he nodded, opening up his mouth. To his surprise, she slipped it in, and before he could stop himself, he closed his mouth over her forefinger.

Gabriella watched him. "Troy?"

"Yes?" he said in a slightly muffled voice.

"Give me back my finger, and I'll undo that knot."

Waiting an entire three seconds, just because he could, Troy let go of her finger, swirling his tongue over it before fully releasing it. He enjoyed the way her breathing became jerky, and how a slow flush crept up her neck. Suddenly he could only concentrate on the memory of Gabriella's hair spread across the pillow. He was in over his head, Troy realized with some consternation, and he had no idea what to do. Without another word, Gabriella's nimble and delicate fingers undid the knot and pulled the tie away. She then undid his top two buttons, her fingers brushing the skin and muscles of his chest.

"The heat does funny things to you Troy," she told him.

"No. You do funny things to me. "Thank you."

Rather than return to her book, she uncrossed her legs and sat in silence. Troy spoke up after a few minutes.

"Gabriella?"

"Yes Troy?"

"Why are you here? I mean, living with the Mazios?" he clarified.

It had been months since he had asked the question and though he'd been anxious about asking it again, he'd decided as he'd driven back down that she was ready to tell him.

Gabriella looked away, out at the street, and the burgeoning heat, before sighing and looking back, with a resolute expression in her eyes. "Let me tell you a story," she began.

"After we all left Albuquerque, heading our different directions, Sharpay and Ryan to California, you to Virginia, and me to Boston, I was very lonely. I coped. I studied hard, and I had my job to keep me busy, but it just wasn't the same.

"Because I hadn't got the scholarship I needed, things were a little harder for me, but that first year I survived, supplementing my income with some of my nest egg. But I'll admit it now, I was lonely. And I didn't contact any of you, because I didn't want to admit then that you guys were almost my whole life. About three months before the end of first year, my roommate pretty much tied me up and forced me to go a party. I didn't want to go, and I sat there in the corner, drinking water, watching everybody else get drunk. I was bored out of my brain, when this unbelievably handsome guy walked straight across the room to me and said. 'Hi. Wanna get out of here?' Yeah, yeah…I know strangers," she replied, to his admonishing look.

Then she continued. "I said yes, very warily, but he seemed to be okay. He dropped me home and left. I didn't think anything of it. About a week later, he showed up on my doorstep with flowers, and asked to go out to dinner. He was gorgeous Troy, and he was attracted to me. He was intense, and dangerous, and rich, and different. He wasn't a student, but he was intelligent and funny and sexy. I said yes. That man was Carlos Mazio."

Troy exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I see."

"Yes, you see. He seduced me. I wasn't aware of it, but he pulled out everything. Flowers, constant messages, jewelry, a trip to New York to stay at the Four Seasons. And he was caring and understanding and compassionate and all of that. I still didn't tell him a lot about my life, but I talked to him about college and about being lonely. He just seemed to listen. And he didn't just want to get me into bed, which was a definite plus.  
Eventually though, just before I went back to college sophomore, we did sleep together. I struggled in sophomore year. I'd spent so much time over the summer with Carlos that I hadn't got a job and saved enough to support myself. I started going under, but I was too proud to tell anybody. Carlos worked it out pretty quickly, and he offered to pay for me. I didn't want that…I didn't want to be kept, but I was desperate Troy and then I found out a few days later that I was…pregnant."

"Pregnant?" He had trouble saying the word and associating it with Gabriella, his Gabriella who used to read the last page of a book first and squirm during sex scenes in movies.

"You can start breathing again," she said with a rueful smile.

"Yes…pregnant. I didn't really want to tell Carlos. In fact, in many ways, Carlos reminded me of you. And if I'd had been pregnant to you at that stage, I would have hesitated before telling you. He was good in a relationship, you know, but I wasn't quite sure if he was ready for the responsibility of a kid. And I wasn't sure I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. But I told him. He was…happy, but not happy at the same time. He said he had to tell his father, and he seemed very worried about that. I hadn't met his family, and he hadn't spoken about them a lot. That afternoon, I got a visit from Christof, who was polite and charming and said that I was welcome to come live with the family, and of course things would be taken care of. I was determined not to get involved in anything, because I was certain by that stage that Carlos wasn't going to marry me."

She paused again.

"What happened?" he prompted.

"I asked Christof if I could think about for a little while. He was agreeable, and he seemed very nice; he was well dressed, educated, articulate, and obviously intelligent. I thought about it and decided I wasn't going to move in with the family, and that I would have the baby myself, and Carlos could support me, but I would be a single mother."

Troy finally understood what had happened. "Carlos died, didn't he?"

"Three days later," Gabriella said, her voice tinged with sadness. "I…I had to move in with the Mazios. When my Mom found out, she was furious. Not only that I'd been stupid enough to get pregnant, but also because I hadn't gone to her. She saw it as some kind of rejection, when the truth was, I was ashamed. She's refused to speak to me ever since then."

"The baby?" he asked.

At this, Gabriella's inhale was strained. "Miscarriage," she finally told him. "About a month later. There was blood everywhere…it was awful. I don't really like to talk about it much. I went back to law school, and now I'm in Christof's debt. He doesn't want me to repay him, but I feel morally obliged to stay."

"I'm sorry," Troy said quietly. "I'm sorry that you lost the baby."

"Some days I am as well. Other days, I know how different my life would be, if I had a kid. My baby would Sophie's age. That's why Laura and I were friends…we were pregnant at the same time. I wasn't ready for a kid then."

"And now?"

Gabriella turned to look at him, with naked green eyes. "Now…now…I want a real relationship before I have any children."

"I screwed things up for you with Elvis, didn't I?"

She nodded. "But that isn't a bad thing. I never would have…gone through with it. I didn't love him."

"I don't want you to be lonely," he finally told her. It had been on his mind the entire trip down. "I don't want to be the reason that you end up alone."

"Then don't be," Gabriella told him, running her finger down the inside of his arm. "I'm not alone when I'm with you."

"I can't…" he trailed away, "Be with you like that. There are things that I can't tell you. You don't know how much I want to, but believe me when I tell you that I want to be with you…more then anything."

Her finger reached the palm of his hand and she placed her own hand up against it, so that they were palm to palm. Gabriella looked up at him then, calm and peaceful. "At least you're honest with me, Troy."

Troy tilted his head and bought her knuckles to his mouth, grazing them with his lips, then his voice uncoiled like a spring as he quoted.

"_if i have made, my lady, intricate imperfect various things chiefly which wrong your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail) songs less firm than your body's whitest song upon my mind - if i have failed to snare the glance too shy - if through my singing slips the very skillful strangeness of your smile the keen primeval silence of your hair  
- let the world say "his most wise music stole nothing from death" -  
you only will create (who are so perfectly alive) my shame: lady through whose profound and fragile lips the sweet small clumsy feet of April came  
into the ragged meadow of my soul."_

"Who was that?" she asked in a strained voice, as he returned their hands to her lap, their fingers twined and knotted together.

"E.E. Cummings," he told her.

"It was beautiful."

They sat there in silence. In the corner Sophie drew, Allegra slept, the heat continued to swell, and Gabriella and Troy held hands.

* * *

AN: Keep reading and reviewing, thanks to everyone and I'll post the next one soon :)


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I wish I may, I wish I might...

Wherever You Are: Chapter 13

As he slid into the booth the following Wednesday Troy caught the eye of the waitress and nodded towards her coffeepot. She nodded back, tiredly, shuffling towards the table with a cup. He pulled his sunglasses off, dropping them on the counter, and turned his attention to Simon.

"Well?" he demanded, already running late. He had to take Sophie to a party, do the grocery shopping, and drop in on Red Brasco and find out why the little weasel didn't want to do business for them anymore. After all, Christof had some very interesting pictures of Brasco that weren't very good for Brasco, but very good for Christof.

"Okay." Simon was all business. "Dr. Andrea Hunt's maiden name is actually Andretti."

Troy thought for a minute before it connected. "Daniella's maiden name is Andretti."

"That's right, but Daniella had nothing to do with it. Anyway, Laura Mazio and Nicolo were having an affair for about three months and Petro obviously found out, because the records we managed to obtain from the Pacific Center show she wasn't all that sick, but that Petro and Christof admitted her.

"But here's the real clincher." He paused to make sure he had Troy's attention. "We looked into Nick's death, and went over the autopsy. He was shot in the back right shoulder, and according to the guy handling the drug delivery, who was cowering behind the cases just about pissing himself the Del Torios were to the left of Nick and they were in front of him, shooting from above."

"Let me guess," Troy continued, "The Mazios were behind and to the right of poor Nicolo."

"Correct. That doesn't say a lot though, because the delivery guy can't remember all of Nick's movement. It's quite possible that he turned, or somehow managed to be shot from behind by the Del Torios. The trajectory of the bullet through his body does indicate that he was shot from above.

"But, the thing that really nails it down is this. He was shot with a 7.62 slug, and the only two people carrying the hardware for those bullets were Petro Mazio and Gian Del Torio, who may or may not have been there. We can definitely confirm Petro's presence."

Troy raised an eyebrow at Simon. "Then I'd be putting my money on Petro Mazio."

"I'd be putting a bullet in the chamber before going to sleep at night if I was living in that house," Simon responded. "You ain't gonna last out much longer Tomas and you need to be wired up today."

He adamantly shook his head. "No wire Simon. Too dangerous."

"I want you wired," the man repeated. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Without it, your testimony is shit. Any lawyer could say you were biased or making it up. Jesus, we've been through this before."

"There's enough physical evidence that I won't need to testify. And I could get found out at any time, Simon. Those guys can spot a wire a mile off. It's what they're trained to do. They're the mob. Don't you ever watch _The Sopranos_?"

"No," Simon flatly replied. "Besides, it's not the normal wire. It's an implant wire. It goes under your skin. Very simple operation."

"Really, Dr. Rawlings? And this is your professional opinion?"

"Shut up," Simon stood, intimidating in his black leather jacket, with his five o'clock shadow and dark looks. Simon probably would have looked the part of Tomas better then he did, Troy mused. With his dark coloring and the devil-may-care attitude, Simon could almost be mistaken for a member of the Mafia. Simon, however, never went undercover – he was always the outside agent.

"Come on. Hurry up," Simon ordered.

Faced with no other choices and sufficiently curious to follow through on this, Troy sighed with annoyance, took another sip of his lukewarm, badly made, revolting coffee before he followed his partner.

* * *

Two hours later, the base of his neck was itching like crazy, but he'd been reassured by the doctor and Simon that his shirt covered the few stitches that had bound the hole together. The doctor had also told him that the stitches would dissolve in the shower in about three days and nobody would be any wiser. Except me, Troy thought, in a foul temper. Ever since he and Gabriella had pretty much bared their souls, in the most understated way that both could manage, they hadn't been alone. She'd been working and so had he.

In the back yard, the boys were playing soccer and to keep his mind off how much he wanted to scratch his neck, he played with them, hearing about their day at school, and how bad Benito's teacher smelled.

"Like that yucky cheese," Benito surmised.

"Brie," Michael supplied, at the same time taking the ball off his younger brother and triumphantly shooting a goal between the oak trees at the end of the garden. "And he scores! Michael Mazio is the man!"

He and Troy high-fived and Benito looked darkly at his older brother. "You smell like Brie," he said to Michael before walking away.

"Hey Benito," Troy called after the boy, trying to maintain a semblance of peace. "How would like to help me cook dinner?"

The look on Benito's face was worth offering to cook dinner, something Troy avoided like the plague. Benito took his hand and continued telling him about the smelly-cheese teacher, who also happened to look like a witch.

"Does she ride a broom to school?" he asked the boy.

"No," Benito rolled his eyes like it was common knowledge that his teacher wouldn't ride her broom to school. "She only rides the broom at night."

"Oh, I see."

Inside, they found Al, and Benito managed to rope him into helping them cook. Al begrudgingly agreed. Whilst Benito happily stirred the spicy marinade, talking to himself, Al and Troy cut the meat, ready to be marinated and put on skewers for grilling. The meat was freezing and slippery although it was defrosted, and Troy concentrated on cutting it and not his finger.

"Do you know," Al said, somehow able to not cut himself and talk at the same time, "That Tony came to us the same way that you did?"

Troy stopped cutting then and looked up at Al. "Really?"

Al nodded, still cutting. "We needed another hitman and he arrived. That was nearly ten years ago now. He married Marissa after a year and a half, and of course, had Michael, Benito and Allegra."

"Oh."

"Then he worked his way up the chain of command. Got to where he is now, which is pretty impressive." Al slid his meat off the board and into the bowl. "I'm telling you this," he continued, "Because many people think that you'll do the same."

"Sorry?" Troy really didn't understand, but he made an effort to seem unaffected and went back to his cutting.

"Everyone in the house expects that you'll now marry Gabriella. Really become a part of the family. Have some kids. Maybe inherit the business now that Elvis is in the bad books."

"I…"

Al interrupted him. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know what everybody thinks. You've become very important in the house since you arrived. Everyone really likes you. And you could stay. Just like Tony did."

His head buzzing with thoughts, Troy tried to sort them out in order and decided to stick to cutting his meat. He could think about everything later.

* * *

Troy was wired for three busy weeks before he knew it was time. They handled another drug shipment, went on a job and got rid of a rival brothel-owner and made sure that Marcus Francini couldn't possibly spill everything he knew to the cops, like he'd been threatening to do.

Within the household, Roberto and Isabel were obviously sleeping together. Allegra sat up by herself for the first time. Troy couldn't find time to talk to Gabriella or Tony. Elvis continued to brood. Benito cut himself with a kitchen knife and needed four stitches in his forefinger, creating drama in the house. Lying in bed, on the third Sunday after being wired, with a full stomach after a supper of cannelloni, and the sound of hymns in his head, Troy knew with absolute clarity that it was time to set up the raid and get out.

* * *

He met Simon on the following Tuesday morning.

"Let's do it," were the first words out of Troy's mouth as he sat down. "I need about another week. It's time to do it."

Simon, completely unruffled, nodded. "We'll be ready by Thursday. Thursday night, at about six-thirty. Will everybody be in the house?"

Troy thought for a long moment. "Yeah. It's Benito's birthday. Everybody will be home early." He suddenly felt awful for doing it on Benito's birthday.

"Don't get tied up," Simon warned. "Your job was to get in there, get the information and bring them down. Forget the kids, forget all the laughs you've had, because those people are bad."

Troy looked Simon dead in the eye. "Not Gabriella. Not Isabel. Not the four kids. They don't know anything. Promise me…promise me they'll be okay."

"I can't do that," Simon replied.

"You promise me, or I'll fuck it up, and make sure you don't get anybody. Don't try me."

"What is with you and Gabriella? Don't tell me," Simon suddenly said, in a disgusted tone. "You've gone and fallen in love, haven't you? Haven't you? Christ, of all the stupid things to do. You know just as well as I do that…"

"I knew her a long time ago. And whatever we had is long gone," he interrupted, lying through his teeth. "Do I have your word?"

Simon finally caved. "Yeah. Gabriella and the kids will be fine. We'll go easy on them. I can't guarantee Isabel."

"Fine."

It was really all that Troy could ask for and he nodded at Simon. He left without another word.

* * *

AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews and keep it up!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own HSM, just the Mazios.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 14

Wednesday was the day that everybody went out checking their businesses and Troy spent his second last day with the Mazios in idle occupation with Sophie, watching her draw, eating lunch with her, and taking care of Allegra. At about two o'clock, as he rocked Allegra and watched Sesame Street with Sophie, he realized with a pang in his stomach that he was going to miss this. He was going to miss Sophie, with her red curls and loud voice, climbing on his lap, jumping on him in the morning, flinging herself at him and calling, "Tommy!" He was going to miss dressing her up and answering her questions. He was going to miss playing soccer with the boys and picking them up from school and listening to them argue and fight. He wouldn't miss his work, but he was going to miss riding with Roberto and Al and drinking beer with them afterwards. He'd miss talking shop with Petro, and watching football Tony and reading the same books as Isabel and discussing them.

He'd miss his morning tea's with Daniella, listening to her complain about Victoria Del Torio, appreciating her beauty and hearing the sound of her singing as she cooked lunch. He would miss hearing her take pot shots at Christof at the table on Saturdays and Sundays. He would definitely miss the lunches and dinners when everybody ate together; all the joking and laughing, the smell of heavenly food, garlic and tomatoes, with Christof and Daniella eyeing each other from opposite ends of the table and Isabel interjecting her sarcastic comments.

He'd probably miss going to church, the entire Mazio clan taking up the front pew, praying in unison, arguing loudly with each other during the sermon, providing entertainment for the congregation, and getting away with it, singing loudly and marching into and out of the church in their very best clothes, like they owned it.

As for Gabriella…very carefully, as Allegra fell asleep, he took everything he was feeling and thinking about Gabriella and put it away in the corner of his mind, because the second he started thinking about her was the second he lost his resolve. Lost in Sesame Street, Sophie didn't notice the sad look on Troy's face, as he looked around the living area and thought about how alone he was going to be when this was over. He'd go back to his pointless life, his empty, lonely apartment in Washington, his doomed relationships, his job and his nights alone. It hit him at that exact moment that whatever their faults, and there were many, the Mazios were a family.

And family was something Troy didn't have.

* * *

Wednesday night, Troy got home at twelve-thirty after taking care of a delivery with only Al this time. He trudged up the stairs, parting company with Al on the second floor and pulling his shirt off as he entered his bedroom. Tossing it over his shoulder towards one of the easy chairs he'd inherited over the past few months, he waited for the soft sound of the shirt hitting the chair. It never came and he turned around and found Gabriella sitting in the chair, holding the shirt in her left hand.

"Nice catch," he said, standing there in his pants waiting for her to make the first move.

"Thank you." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're home late."

"Yeah, well, you know…" he trailed off, hoping that sounded non-committal enough.

"Actually, I don't, but it doesn't matter." She stood up and dropped the shirt behind her, where she'd been sitting. "I was lying in bed, wondering what would happen if I was waiting in here when you got home."

He swallowed; Gabriella's nightgown was made out of a very thin material, and she moved towards him, the moonlight set it ablaze, making sure he didn't miss the fact that she was naked underneath.

"Well…you caught my shirt. That's what happened. Now you should get some sleep."

"I'm not very interested in sleep." She stopped, a foot away from him. "I'm not interested in sleep at all."

"Gabriella…"

"What?"

Troy sighed. "Don't do this. We agreed."

"No." Gabriella shook her head. "We never said we wouldn't sleep together. I…it drives me crazy when you're in the next bedroom, and I'm lying there alone in my bed, remembering what it was like."

"I've never been able to resist you," he warned. "You know that."

"What's wrong with that?" She closed the distance between them, until she was close enough to touch.

"You know what's wrong with that Gabriella. I can't do this when…" he closed his eyes and tried to find some way around the problem.

"Troy, I don't care what your secret is." She shrugged. "I know you've got one, and whatever it is, you're still Troy, I'm still attracted to you, you're still my one-time lover."

"One time," he repeated. "And that was a disaster."

"No it wasn't," she answered. "You know as well as I do that it wasn't a disaster." She took another step towards him and he retreated, until she had him backed up against the closet door.

"Please," he whispered, "Don't do this to me."

"I'm tired of talking." He had nowhere else to go when she pressed her body up against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Talking is overrated."

"No," he tried. "Gabriella, we aren't going to do this. You're going to go back to bed. You'll get up tomorrow morning and be thankful that we didn't do this." He tried pulling out of her grasp, but her hands on either side of his body had him pinned, and he could feel himself giving in.

"If we don't do this, I'll wake up tomorrow and regret it."

"There are things you don't know about me," he tried. "And if you knew…"

"But I don't." She was hypnotic, with those damn brown eyes and her bewitching voice. "I don't know those things. I know that I want you and that I'm going to get you."

An entire summer of repressed attraction burned between them; it was in her hands tangled in his hair, and his hands drawing circles along her side and moments later when their heartbeats subsided.

* * *

It was nearly eight o'clock when Troy awoke, and he knew that Gabriella would be downstairs, eating breakfast. It was still a Thursday, and she still had to go to work. He sat up, his body groaning as he padded across the room, pulled on his shirt from last night and some clean pants. At the foot of the bed, Gabriella's nightgown was a gossamer pile, and he picked it up and tossed negligently it on the bed.

He took the stairs slowly, muscles complaining, as he tried to work out exactly what he was feeling. Except that all he was feeling was the afterglow of Gabriella. Somewhere in the back of his mind, guilt was stirring; he gave until tonight before it really kicked in.

Right now, he decided to visit Daniella; she would be going downstairs soon, to kiss the boys goodbye before Isabel dropped them off at school. Isabel had nearly finished her thesis on unnatural women in Shakespeare, and edited her work at the library, where it was quiet.

He knocked on Daniella's door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Tomas," he answered.

"Come in," Daniella called out to him.

Just as he'd thought, she was sitting on her balcony, in her dressing gown, reading her paper and finishing off her cup of tea.

"Good morning," he said. "How did you sleep?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, which told him that she and Christof hadn't got much sleep. "You know, you two should be careful," he warned. "All that activity could be too strenuous for you."

"Tomas?" she smiled. "Shut up." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you know how to do up your buttons?"

He laughed, looking down at his shirt, with only the three middle buttons done up. Daniella drained her cup. "You heading downstairs?"

"Yes. Escort me?"

"Sure," he replied and they went downstairs. "See you in a second." He headed down the hall to Petro's office. "Morning," he said, sticking his head around the door. "Anything I need to know about?"

Petro looked up from the paper. "Yes, actually. That delivery of suits we were waiting on tomorrow?" Troy nodded. "Tip-off is that the Del Torio's are after them. Need extra-tight security, so you and I will be planning that. Come and visit me before lunch."

"Will do," he said, walking across the hall to Tony, a queasy, guilty feeling growing in the bottom of his stomach. There wouldn't be a tomorrow, and there wouldn't be Benito's birthday party tonight, and the happiness that Daniella and Christof had found was about to be cut short, all because of him.

"Hi Tony," he greeted the widower, who was doing the accounts, forcing a tone of normality into his voice. "Everything balancing?"

"Haven't finished yet," was the reply. "Why? Did you steal some money?" Tony's grin was distracted.

"Can't you seeing the missing ten thousand?" Troy returned.

"If you're stealing from me," Christof called from his office, "You shouldn't admit to it whilst my office door is open."

"I only admitted to ten thousand," Troy offered. "I'm not going to tell you about the other fifty thou."

Christof laughed, his smile wide and sunny. "At least stealing shows some initiative."

Troy shrugged, smiled in return, felt like vomiting, and headed down the hall.

In the kitchen, the children were stacking their dishes. "Happy birthday Benito," he called, hugging the boy and tousling Michael's hair. "Mr. Big Seven Year Old. How does it feel?'

"Good," Benito cried. "Do I have to go to school?"

Every adult in the room answered in unison. "Yes."

Michael smirked. "See. Grandma, Aunty Gabriella, Aunty Isabel, Uncle Al and Tommy all said you had to go to school. Nah, nah, nah."

"Shut up!" Benito replied, letting go of Troy. "Uncle Tommy," he said. The Uncle Tommy was a new development but Troy took it in his stride, that writhing feeling in his gut growing stronger. It was decidedly like acid reflux, Troy decided, but the acid was his guilt.

"Yes Benito?"

"Would you cook me lasagna for dinner?"

Troy felt his kidneys revolt, and his liver joined the fight, knowing Benito would never get to finish his birthday dinner. "Of course I will Benito. You're the birthday boy."

Benito smirked at his older brother. "Uncle Tommy is cooking me special food. Nah, nah, nah."

"That's enough you two," Isabel warned. "Have you packed your school bags?" Of course, in the time-honored tradition of school children everywhere, they hadn't. "Then get to it," she said, and they raced up the stairs to get ready. "Those boys will be the death of me," she sighed.

"I knew it," Al exclaimed. "I just knew it!"

"Knew what?" his sister asked in a confused voice, wiping down the bench.

"You're getting clucky," he announced. "You, sister darling, want a baby."

Isabel looked at him disparagingly, with disdain in her eyes. "Al Stephan Mazio?"

"Yes Isabel Sylvia Mazio?"

"You, brother darling, are the lowest excuse for a human being and you should be banned from speaking and procreating."

Al's smile was triumphant. "You do want a baby!" There was a pause and everybody burst out laughing.

"Okay, okay," Isabel admitted. "I've been thinking about it. But if you tell Roberto, I'll tell Gabriella you used to have a crush on her." Then Isabel looked around and feigned shock at actually seeing Gabriella. "Oh dear!" Isabel put a hand to her cheek in mock-horror. "I didn't realize you were there Gabriella."

Al backed his sister up against the dishwasher, dark eyes intense, although amusement colored his expression. "I'm going to corrupt your children."

"I'm counting on it," she replied, nimbly stepping away from him and around the bench. "Now go out there before Roberto comes in and wants to know what we're talking about."

Grumbling something about irrational, clucky, bossy, ungrateful, hormonal sisters, Al disappeared outside and down the steps to the terrace, where Roberto looked up and smiled. Isabel went upstairs to help the boys.

"No doubt they've mislaid their belongings since yesterday afternoon," she said wryly to Gabriella and Troy.

Daniella headed down the hall, where Gabriella and Troy could hear her greet Christof as if she hadn't seen him for a decade instead of two hours ago. Petro asked Tony a question across the hall, and he answered in a distracted tone of voice. The boys raced back down the stairs.

"Goodbye Dad," they called, racing into his office to kiss him. "See ya, Nonna, Nonno. Bye Uncle Petro."

"Happy Birthday, Benito!" everyone called from various parts of the house, Gabriella and Troy included. Then they were gone, the front door closing behind Isabel and the boys with a resounding bang. Troy ordered his knees to hold him up.

Sophie finished her breakfast. Jumping down off her seat, she flung herself at Troy. "Tommy!" she cried, even though he'd been standing there for almost seven minutes. Troy started to feel dizzy, and wondered he would even notice if his stomach imploded.

"Sophie!" he replied in the same loud voice she used. "How is my favorite little girl?'

"I'm good, but I wish it was my birthday. 'Member, you said you were going to buy me Sparkle and Shine Barbie. You promised."

"Of course I'll buy it for you," he granted, feeling even worse, if that were possible. "You don't want anything else?"

"An ice-cream cake with my name and a ballerina on it. And a bike like Michael's, and a new pink dress, and most of all I want some bright pink shoes. Sort of like that pretty dress that Gabriella owns. Warm pink, right?"

"Hot pink," Gabriella corrected, gently rubbing some sleep out of the corner of Sophie's eye.

"What's your second name?" Sophie asked, completely out of the blue, but then again, Sophia Mazio always asked question out of the blue.

"Guiseppe," he replied, pulling the name out of nowhere. Gabriella, who knew perfectly well that he was Troy Alexander Bolton, hid her smile behind her coffee cup.

"Guis…Guiseppe," the little girl finally managed to make out. "What kind of a stupid name is that?"

"It's not stupid," he defended valiantly. "It's the name of the old man in Pinocchio."

"No it's not," Gabriella disputed. "The name of the old man in Pinocchio is Gepetto."

Troy swiveled to look at her. "Well I'm sorry if I didn't pay attention to Pinocchio when I last watched it twenty years ago."

"You should be," Gabriella replied mildly, throwing the dregs of her strong, black coffee down the drain.

"What's your middle name?" he asked Sophie, flattening down one of her bright curls and putting her dirty bowl in the sink.

"Merabella," she said, obviously proud that she could pronounce the long name.

"After Nonna's sister. I'm Sophia Merabella Mazio."

"Well that is beautiful name," he told her, bouncing her on his hip. "I suppose it is better then Guiseppe."

"What's your second name?" Sophie was looking at Gabriella this time.

"Viola," Gabriella answered. Troy, who knew perfectly well that her name was Gabriella Anne Montez, hid his smile behind Sophie's head.

"Viola," Sophie repeated slowly, rolling the name around on her tongue. "Viola. It sounds like the flower. Or Violin. But it is very pretty. Very cotic."

Gabriella and Troy spoke in unison. "What?"

"Oh you know," the little girl said irritably. "Cotic. Like palm trees and funny dancing and that spicy stuff that Nonno said was very cotic and Nonna said was very Dian."

It was Troy who finally deduced what she was saying. "Oh," he realized. "Exotic. We had that dish the other night and Christof said it was exotic and Daniella said it was very Indian."

Gabriella's face cleared up. "Exotic. Well, I suppose Viola is exotic. Viola was a character in a famous play," she added. "Anyway, I better get going, or my boss will kill me."

"Just punch him," Troy told her.

"Unfortunately," Gabriella rejoined, "I have no desire to spend any time in a jail cell with a truck-driving lesbian called Momma Butch."

"See there's your problem. If you got over your homophobic socio-economic attitude, you could punch your boss, do your time and be done with it."

"Tomas?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes?"

"Bite me."

"How?" Sophie interjected.

Troy burst out laughing. "Out of the mouths of babes." He sighed, still smiling. "We should get you upstairs and get you dressed, little miss. Kiss Gabriella goodbye," he instructed Sophie, standing close enough so that the little girl could give Gabriella a big wet kiss. "Goodbye," he added.

"Now you two kiss," Sophie instructed.

They both looked at her. "Sorry?" he asked.

"I had to kiss her," Sophie said. "So you should have to kiss her." It all made perfect sense to Sophie.

"Sweetheart…" Gabriella began, trying to find an excuse. "It's a bit different for Tomas and me."

"I don't care," Sophie said, her voice tinged with a tantrum. "If I had to kiss you, Tomas should have to kiss you."

They looked each other; the tension between them was palpable. The physical distance between them felt like nothing. He kept remembering what it felt like to fall asleep with her.

"Hurry up," the little girl added.

Troy shrugged. "Can't argue with logic." He kissed her gently on the cheek, with his mouth itching to do other things. "See you when you get home."

Gabriella nodded, turned away and turned back, pushing her lips against his, in the presence of God and nearly everyone. "See you," she repeated and left.

"Now that," Sophie announced, when Troy started breathing again, "Is a kiss."

* * *

AN: So Troy feels guilty almost as guilty as I do for what's about to happen to the Mazios, but if you review you'll be able to get a new chapter and see if I've somehow managed to untangle this web in a way that eases the guilt and gets everyone a happy ending, or at least the ending they all deserve...so read and review:) 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Nope.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 15

He was upstairs on the third floor balcony with Sophie when Gabriella arrived home. It was only five-thirty; everyone had tried to make it home early so that Benito's dinner could start at six.

Troy was explaining to Sophie what a lawyer was, when Gabriella walked out onto the balcony, her heels loud on the stone. "Hello," she said, leaning against the railing. 'How are you?"

"Good," Sophie replied. "We saw a movie today. And Tommy is saying that lawyers do lots of fighting."

"Yes, they do," Gabriella agreed. "Sometimes so much fighting that they don't like fighting when they come home."

"Nobody likes fighting," Sophie pointed out practically. "It's loud."

"And messy," Troy added. "And people say hurtful things. Things that they don't really mean."

"I'm never going to fight with you Tommy," Sophie declared. "Is dinner going to start soon? I'm hungry."

Gabriella looked out to the street as the wind blew leaves down the street. "Did you manage to make the lasagna?"

"Yes. And don't make it sound like I'm a bad cook," Troy replied. "I didn't burn anything." Gabriella raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, I didn't noticeably burn anything."

Gabriella returned to the view. "We should probably go down soon," she said after five minutes of silence.

"Nobody's going anywhere," said a voice behind them in the balcony doorway. There was an unmistakable clicking sound; a sound that Troy knew in his sleep. It was the sound of a bullet clicking into the chamber.

Gabriella turned and her eyes went wide. "Elvis," she said, for want of anything better to say.

"Get up," Elvis snapped, obviously talking to Troy. Troy rose, balancing Sophie on his hip. "Turn around."

Very slowly, he pivoted on his right foot, a hundred and eighty degrees, until he was facing the barrel of a gun. "Elvis, you don't want to do this," he said quietly. "Trust me, you don't – "

"I'll decide what's going to happen here," Elvis interrupted.

"Let Sophie go," Troy spoke in the same low, quiet, intense voice. He'd his negotiation course. Or the very basics at least. "She doesn't have to be here."

"Shut up!"

"Let her go. She doesn't know what's happening. You don't want anything to happen to her."

"Please Elvis," Gabriella added, but her voice was colored with fear, unlike Troy's, which was smooth, soft and steady. "Please."

Elvis jerked his head up and down rapidly, and Troy crouched down, putting Sophie on her feet. "Baby, why don't you go downstairs? Benito will be opening his presents right about now. We'll be down soon."

Blue eyes wide, she nodded. "Promise?"

His throat tightened. "Promise," he whispered, kissing her quickly on the forehead. "Go on, hurry up." She ran around Elvis and down the stairs.

Troy got his feet, each of his movements subtle, so that they wouldn't startle Elvis. A man with a gun was not somebody he wanted to surprise. Thinking furiously, he knew his own gun was in his sock drawer. The 9 mm Colt was unloaded though, with three clips in the bottom draw. Pretty useless.

Gabriella remained where she was. "What's going on?" she asked in a shaky voice. "What are you doing?"

"You two thought I wouldn't know. You thought I wouldn't realize. I was out this morning. But I came home, and Tomas's door was open, with your nightgown lying there, and the imprint of two bodies." He looked at Troy. "Was she good?"

"Elvis, understandably you're angry," Troy began.

"Understandably? You don't know the first thing about me and why I'm angry. She was mine, until you came along."

"I was nobody's," was Gabriella's swift reply. "I've never belonged to anybody." He could hear the anger rising in her voice and wished there were a way to tell her to shut up.

Any excess of emotion from either of them could escalate the whole situation.

"But you weren't interested in anybody else," Elvis rejoined. "Until Tomas showed up, saving you when you didn't need to be saved, turning you against me, turning Christof against me, until I got all the shitty jobs."

"Elvis, that's not true. Christof hasn't turned against you. He's trying to teach you more of the business," Troy placated, knowing that wasn't true at all. "He's going to hand the business over to you."

"That's bullshit!"

"No it's not." Troy licked his lips, debating his next move. He decided to go with it. "Besides," he added, "You've got that whole Victoria thing going. That might work out for you."

Elvis's eyes grew wide with shock. "I – I…how did you know…how do you know about that?"

Gabriella's confusion radiated from her body.

"There are a lot of things I know," Troy told him. "If you do something stupid now, you could really screw your chances up. Do you really want to do that Elvis?"

"I don't care!" Elvis yelled. "You're lying. And you haven't answered my question: was she good?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Troy finally told him. "It's none of your business Elvis."

"It's my business!" the man screeched. "She was mine until you played the knight and ended up weaseling her into bed, you lying, cheating scum."

"Don't you dare talk about Troy that way," Gabriella interjected in a coldly furious voice. "Don't you dare!"

Elvis focused on Gabriella. "Don't tell me you've been stupid enough to fall in love." Gabriella was silent. "You haven't, have you?" Elvis's tone was childish as well as outraged. "Stupid bitch!" He stormed towards her, and she cowered back against the railing.

Troy stepped in between them, closer to Gabriella, trying not to startle him. "Elvis, just think for a minute. This really isn't helping you right now. If you do something rash, it won't just be Christof who locks you out; the police will investigate, Christof won't protect you and you'll go down."

It seemed to stop him for a second, and it was the second Troy needed. "Elvis, why don't you just put the gun down?" Elvis seemed a little lost and Troy capitalized on it. "And we can talk about this without the gun. You don't need it, Elvis. It's more trouble then its worth."

Elvis wavered, lowering the gun. Gabriella sighed in a relief and tucked her arms around Troy's waist without thinking.

The gun was back, inches away from Troy's face. "Nearly thought you had me, didn't you? Think you're so smart?"

Gabriella melded even closer in fear; before Elvis had been annoyed but still thinking. Now he was furious and wasn't considering the consequences of his actions. "Elvis…" Troy tried.

"Do you love him?" Elvis was looking over Troy's shoulder at Gabriella, who was still angry, still showing resolute determination.

"That's irrelevant Elvis," Troy tried directing the flow away from Gabriella toward him. "The real issue is…"

"Yes," she said in a soft, determined, intense voice. "Yes, I love him."

Elvis pulled the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own HSM.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 16

Troy's vision was red and black. Tiny spheres of light flickered on the edge of his vision, burgeoning and distracting.

Troy had been shot twice in his career, and remembered each occasion with a clarity brought on by pain and anger at the fact that somebody had actually shot him.

The first time, he'd been hit in the leg, although hit hadn't stopped him from shooting the guy in the arm and complaining about the pain all the way to the hospital.

The second time, he'd been accidentally hit in the shoulder, and he'd been so annoyed he'd spent five minutes yelling at the careless perp for his bad aim before he finally realized that his whole arm was on fire.

This, he knew, was more serious than either of those injuries.

"Troy…" said a ragged voice by his ear. The voice of somebody struggling. It was Elvis.

"What?" Troy managed.

"She called you Troy."

"Troy Bolton," he said tiredly, wondering why there was no pain.

He'd felt like he'd smoked too much weed and was trying to order a pizza because everybody in the dorm was starving, only nothing connected properly and he couldn't remember whether he wanted Hawaiian or Extra Cheese.

"FBI," he added.

"Shoulda known," Elvis said gratingly.

A voice and a face loomed above him. Squinting, Troy discerned Tony's face.

"I'm Lt. Peter Sanderson," Tony said. Again, Troy couldn't understand why everybody wanted him to understand English. He couldn't think… "Boston PD."

"Oh."

The sound escaped him so effortlessly, Troy knew he was dying. Either that or the whole experience, from arriving at the Mazios to this, right now, lying on his back with a wet feeling in the back of his throat, had been some enormous trip. Which he doubted.

Something beautifully cool touched his face, his forehead. A gentle finger ran across his lips, and citrus scent permeated the air. Another hand reached for his shirt, trying to find the wound, trying to staunch the blood that he imagined was there.

"Hey, Al…" Troy wheezed. He could taste blood in his mouth.

"FBI?" she asked softly, leaning closer. "You're a Fed?"

"Sorry," Troy muttered. Then nothing.

* * *

The room smelt of cigarette smoke, heavy aftershave, and old, stale fear. It was a utilitarian interview, identical to many that Gabriella had been in. Then, she'd been working, defending clients. There was a standard issue grey desk, grey walls, two chairs, and a one-way tinted window. The neon lights were giving her a headache and the whine of a non-functioning air conditioner was slowly driving her mad.

Her clothes felt dirty. Her eyeballs felt like they were filled with grit. Looking at her watch again, she realized it was past midnight. A streak of Troy's blood now dried and dark ran across her hand. Spots of it traced their way up her arm. It was a visceral, bodily connection to Troy. A reminder that somewhere, he was fighting for his life.

Opposite her, a young agent, with curly blonde hair, innocent blue eyes and thin lips was trying to be the World's Most Irritating Agent, and with every passing second, Gabriella's patience waned, and her temper increased.

"I know you're lying," the young agent said cockily, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms with confidence.

"Your mind reading powers are clearly fucked," Gabriella said tiredly, running her hands through her hair.

"No need to be rude," he warned.

"I'm telling the truth."

Vaughn MacLeod snorted in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that you spent five years in that house, that you lived with those people everyday, you had meals with them, shared your life with him, and nobody ever once discussed business?"

"Yes."

"Forgive me my expression of disbelief, Ms. Montez, but these people were your family, but what the men did on a day-to-day basis didn't ever come up in conversation?"

"No, it didn't. I'm not going to repeat myself. I've already told you that I don't know anything about the Mazios alleged organized crime links. I've already told you that we never discussed business, that it just wasn't a topic of conversation."

"You look tired, Gabriella."

"It's Ms. Montez," Gabriella snapped. "And I'm not so tired I'm going fall for any of your ridiculous, television-induced interview strategies. This is not _Law and Order_, and I am not stupid. There should be a big note in your file that says I'm a lawyer."

"I know that," MacLeod concurred. "It strikes me as odd that a woman of your intelligence – a practicing lawyer – knows nothing about what's going on right under her nose."

Gabriella shrugged. "Sometimes we don't want to see what's in front of our nose. But if I want to discuss my denial issues, I'll see a shrink."

"I'm sorry to hear you think you have psychological problems. Are you hungry, Ms. Montez?"

"Of course I am. I haven't eaten since lunch. Nice change of tactics. Look, you've been interviewing me for nearly two hours now. For the last time, I really never had any idea. The idea that Christof and everyone else in the house are involved with the Mafia has come as such a surprise to me that I don't know how to deal with it. Unless you think I'm involved, do you think we could terminate this interview?"

"I've just got a few more questions." MacLeod tried to look contrite, but it didn't work.

"I can walk out of here of my own free volition. I'm a lawyer. I know my rights, now…"

MacLeod stood in a hurried motion, interrupting her, and standing over her. "Enough with the charade, Gabriella. For the last time…"

The door to the interview room was thrown open, and a tall, well-dressed man with an air of authority, dark expressive eyes and a furious expression stormed into the room.

"Great. Now we get bad cop/worse cop" Gabriella said, her temper finally beginning to the get better of her. "Where's my good cop? I demand my good cop!"

The stranger rounded on Vaughn, eyes glinting with barely contained rage. "Agent MacLeod, did I or did I not leave specific instructions that Ms. Montez was not to be interviewed?"

"Yes, you did sir, but I thought…"

"The FBI doesn't pay you to think. The FBI pays you to follow instructions from a superior officer. Now, get out of here."

"Sir, with all due respect…" Vaughn tried again.

"With all due respect, MacLeod, you're an idiot." Simon gestured towards Gabriella. "Would look at her? She needs medical attention. Any moron in a court of law will say that the interview you just conducted was coerced, regardless of the fact that she obviously knows nothing. She's a witness, not a suspect. Get out my sight, or I'll nail your ass to the wall."

"Sir…"

"Now, MacLeod, or you'll be up to your ass in paperwork."

Vaughn disappeared immediately, a white tightness around his eyes and mouth. He slammed the door behind him.

The stranger crossed to Gabriella's side of the desk, and leant against it. Looking up at him, Gabriella asked, "So you're my good cop in the disguise of the worse cop?"

The stranger grinned, his whole face lighting up, making him even more handsome. "I'm not even a cop. I'm an FBI agent. I'm sorry about MacLeod. He's a little zealous, shall we say?"

Gabriella raised an eyebrow. "That's one word for it."

The man reached out and gently brushed her temple. It wasn't a threatening gesture. He was actually a welcome relief after the pompous strutting of MacLeod, but his encroachment on her personal space startled her.

His carefully brushed over the open gash on her forehead and she winced. "Ouch."

"Sorry. You hit something when you fell?"

"Edge of the balcony," she answered.

"We'll get it seen to," he promised. "There's always a doctor or two somewhere in an FBI building."

"Thanks. Does it look bad?"

"No."

"You lying?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Gabriella hesitated. "Where's Tomas?"

The man's hand dropped back to his lap, and his eyes narrowed, focusing on her. "You could probably tell his middle name if I asked you."

Her eyes were steady. "Tomas?"

"No."

Shifting in her chair, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Special Agent Simon Rawlings." He tilted his head. "Troy's partner."

"Ah."

"I suppose you have some questions for me, Ms. Montez."

"I do. It's Alexander, by the way. Troy's middle name," she added, off Simon's confused expression.

"And I thought he was Troy Facetious Bolton." Simon grinned. "I'll tell you a couple of things for free. Troy didn't know you were there. He absolutely didn't know you were living with the Mazios. And when he found out that you were he didn't tell us that he knew you. If he'd told us, he probably would have put you in jeopardy, but he didn't."

Gabriella tucked her hair behind her ear. "So how do you know who I am?"

"We investigated you and found out that you two have known each other most of your lives. We just felt there was something more between you and Troy…and then, well…" Simon trailed off and looked at his hands.

Gabriella aired her crooked smile, green eyes flashing with a mixture of anger, resignation, and bemusement. "I see. It all becomes crystal clear. One of those tiresome clichés gets dragged out yet again. How long was Troy wired?"

"Two weeks."

"So Wednesday night is common knowledge around here, huh?"

Simon nodded apologetically. "If it makes you feel any better, Ms. Montez, we turned it down once you finished speaking."

"After everything you've heard, you can call me Gabriella. And the fact that my sex life was the in-house entertainment for the FBI, but you nobly turned it down, well, I'm just peachy with that, Agent Rawlings."

"You can call me Simon. Here are a couple of other things I probably shouldn't tell you"

"Like what?"

He leaned closer. "Tony."

"Apparently," Gabriella said raising her eyebrows, "He's name isn't Tony at all. Apparently, nobody is who they're supposed to be. It's like reading a book in Swahili, and wondering why none of it makes any sense."

"Ain't that the truth," Simon agreed. "We didn't have a clue that Tony was actually Lt. Peter Sanderson, from the Boston Police Department's Vice Squad. He's been conducting their Department's undercover investigation for years now."

"You didn't know?"

"Nobody knew. The FBI and State police aren't big on sharing important information. Just one of the lovely quirks of law enforcement."

"What's happened to Elvis?"

The silence told her everything, but Simon said it anyway, in a very gentle tone of voice. "He was shot through the heart, by Tony, or Peter, actually. He died in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital. The family has been told."

"God. Poor Elvis." Gabriella sighed. "He was hopeless, wasn't he? Certainly not cut out for the Mob."

"I don't know about that," Simon disputed. "Troy found out that Elvis was secretly feeding information to Victoria Del Torio. She kept sabotaging the Mazios business operations. Elvis wanted to make Christof look weak so he could push a takeover with the other Dons."

"Yeah. Troy said something like that when…well, when Elvis had a gun pointed at his head." She shivered. "So, Elvis did have a clue. Anybody else dead, or dying, or back from the dead? You sure that nobody's claiming to be the long-lost Jimmy Hoffa?"

Simon laughed derisively. "No, thank God. This operation's already a cluster fuck, but everybody seems to be who they say they are. There are other things about the family that I can't tell you, because my boss would probably have my ass so fast my head wouldn't even spin. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Gabriella looked him directly in the eyes. "Where is he Simon?"

Simon kept her gaze, but said nothing.

"You can't tell me," she deduced after a long moment of silence.

"No."

"Can you give me a generic answer?"

His dark eyes grew even darker, and the pain he was feeling over Troy closely rivaled her own. "He's in hospital, Gabriella, undergoing surgery. They're trying to reconstruct a collapsed lung. He's lost a lot of blood. It's…well, it's messy and it's not good. The doctors say it's a fifty/fifty chance of making it. They'll know within the next forty-eight hours."

"He just…" her eyes grew wet, as she struggled in vain to hold back the tears. "He was just there, and then, there was blood everywhere, and he was saying sorry…and he just stopped looking at me."

"There's nothing you could have done," Simon said softly. "It's his job. It's what he was trained for."

Hot tears leaked out of her eyes and she touched her hand to her head, near the gash, feeling weak, upset and in desperate need of comfort. "I…"

Simon gently pulled her to her feet, tucking his arms around her. "He'll be just fine. He's strong. You know Troy…he'll be awake in days, flirting with the nurses, complaining about hospital gowns…"

"You don't know that," she disputed, but slowly her tears ebbed. "I'm sorry. I've known you, what…all of ten minutes?"

Simon ran a hand up and down her back. "Well, I've known for about three months."

"So we're good friends, huh?" she joked, taking deep breaths, trying to get rid of the vision of Troy, his white face, his shirt soaked scarlet with blood.

"We have a mutual friend," Simon pointed out. "Who has damn fine taste in friends, I might say." He smiled. "And lovers."

Gabriella ignored his last statement. "I have one more question."

"Anything."

Gabriella pulled back and looked at him. "Where's Sophia?"

* * *

AN: So I've managed to shed some light without really telling you anything...read and review and you might get a chapter that has some answers :)


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, except for Sophie, I really like her.

Wherever You Are Chapter 17

The Boston office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations was located in the old Boston Police buildings. As such, it was a series of little, poky rooms that had been converted into offices. Witnesses were interviewed in the old kitchen that had been separated into two rooms, and the prisoners were held in the basement. The old holding cells had been covered into a bullpen. Desks abutted at catty-corners, the photo-copier hummed and whirred, crime photos were pinned on boards with handwritten notes and arrows going in every direction. The coffee machine, the epicenter of any good office, sat in the corner.

Before Simon would let Gabriella see Sophie, he rustled up a doctor to attend to her head wound. It required six stitches and a nasty dousing with rubbing alcohol, but her reward was two strong painkillers that nuked the headache. The doctor, who was actually a forensic pathologist, declared that she didn't have concussion.

And while the doctor was stitching her up Simon produced a sandwich and a proper cup of coffee. She tried not to think about the lasagna they would have eaten tonight. Or her present for Benito, still hidden under her bed. There would be no more church services, no more Sunday lunches.

_I've lost more than I can quantify_, Gabriella thought, bleakly.

When Gabriella exited the interview room into the wide bullpen with Simon, the first thing she heard was that piping and familiar voice that carried across the other sounds and filled her with insurmountable relief. The tightness in her chest began to ease.

"Only losers have flavored coffee," Sophie was saying.

Simon laughed softly. "Where have I heard that before?'

Sophie, standing on a chair near the coffee machine, caught sight of Gabriella through the crowd of agents trying to get coffee, who were also completely enamored with the little girl, who was still energetic and fiery at two o'clock in the morning.

"Gabriella!" she called.

Gabriella crossed the room in quick strides and swept Sophie into her arms, pulling her tight. "Hi, baby. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sophie answered. "But you're squeezing me."

"Sorry," Gabriella said, tears threatening again. She did push them back this time, keeping control of her unbalanced emotions.

"And the police say they haven't got no cookies, and I want one."

Gabriella kissed her forehead, inhaling her smell of strawberries. "Sweetie, you can have all the cookies you want."

"Good." Sophie's expression changed to one of curiosity. "Agent Vanderalot," she began, pointing to the tall agent with wire-rimmed glasses and the aforementioned flavored coffee, "Said that Daddy, and Nonna and Nonno, and everyone else aren't here right now. They're in trouble, aren't they?"

Gabriella smoothed her hair down. "Yeah, Soph, there are some problems. Daddy, and Nonno and Uncle Al and Berto…they might…we might not see them for a long time."

"Is it big trouble?"

"Very big trouble," Gabriella agreed, nodding.

Her face suddenly dropped. "What about Tomas? Where's Tomas? Is he in trouble?"

Gabriella felt her stomach sinking. "Oh, sweetheart. We need to talk about that." The other agents had tactfully disappeared, leaving them alone. Gabriella sat and settled Sophie in her lap. "Tomas, huh?"

"Where is he?"

"He's…" Gabriella swallowed. "Sophie, you know sometimes that, for whatever reason, people sometimes do strange things, and they…" Gabriella stopped. "No. Let me try again. Do you remember we went and saw _The Wizard of Oz_? And you asked Tomas and me why the people at the end and the beginning of the movie were same as the people in Oz?"

"Yeah, coz the Scarecrow, and the Tin Man and the Lion were all the people who worked on Dorothy's farm in the real world."

Gabriella nodded. "That's right. Do you remember what I told you? Sometimes people look different, but they're really the same. Sometimes, the people we know have different names, but they're always the same people."

Sophie nestled closer. "So…" her brow furrowed. "Tomas is Tomas, but that's not his name?"

"That's right." Gabriella kissed her forehead. "His real name is Troy, but he's still the same person that you love. And I know that he loves you too, more than anything else in the world."

"Where is…Troy?"

"He's gone away. He's in a different kind of trouble. He's sick, darling. And he might get better, but he's going to stay away."

"Why?"

"Because he has to." Gabriella felt an ache in her heart swelling and growing. "One day I'll tell you, but right now, I think that you need a cookie, and then we both need some sleep."

Sophie looked up at her. "Troy?'

"Yes. That's his real name."

The little girl sighed. "That's a nice name."

* * *

The trees in the park were beginning to turn colors. It was actually only the second week of autumn, but the cool weather came quickly in Boston, and Gabriella pulled her coat closer around her while watching Sophie on the swing.

"Hey, Gabriella," said a voice near her ear, and Gabriella turned and met chocolate brown eyes. "Long time no see."

"That's hardly my fault," she answered, as Simon sat down beside her. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. I'd have called you, but…"

"You don't have my number," Gabriella supplied.

Simon laughed with genuine amusement. "Are you kidding me? I'm an FBI agent. I know everything there is to know about you."

"Bullshit."

His eyebrows rose in challenge. "You had toast with peanut butter this morning, and your period finished yesterday."

She blushed furiously. "Fine."

"I haven't called because I'm not allowed," he informed her. "It's an ongoing investigation. That's why…" Simon hesitated, before continuing. "That's why Troy hasn't contacted you. He's not allowed."

At the mere mention of Troy's name, Gabriella's whole face softened, her eyes lightening and sparkling and her lips turning up. "How is he?"

Simon shrugged. "Still very sore. Tired a lot of the time. He shouldn't be back at work, and he doesn't complain, but even going up a few flights of stairs sets his lungs on fire." He tried to put it all in words. "More than that, he's just…he's not himself. I don't think his heart is in the job anymore. He'll probably quit."

"You think?"

"Yeah. He hasn't said anything, but he gets this look in his eyes. Like he'd rather be somewhere else. We're back down in Washington now, and I thought that would settle him down…but no."

Gabriella tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "What do you think he'll do?'

"Probably go back to law school. It's what he always wanted to do. I think he's practicing. He argues with everybody so much these days. People just keep out of his way."

"Sounds like the usual Troy. He immerses himself in his job or the task at hand so that he doesn't have to think about anything else."

"His skills of avoidance are outstanding."

Gabriella frowned. "Disturbing would be the correct word."

Simon nodded in agreement. "How about you? How is Ms. Montez?"

"Don't call me that," she responded automatically. "I'm good. We're moving next week to Albuquerque, but you probably already knew that."

"Like I said…I'm an FBI agent." Simon focused on Sophie, who was still swinging. "How's Sophie coping?"

"Better," Gabriella answered. "She's stopped asking about the rest of the family. She still asks about Troy all the time. It's her birthday in a month." Gabriella paused, biting her lip and looking up at him. "You will come to Albuquerque for her birthday party, right?"

"Of course." Simon placed his hand gently over hers. "You know that I'll always travel across the country when you need me."

Gabriella twined their fingers together. "You've become a good friend."

"How could we be the best friends of Troy Bolton and not be best friends ourselves? We're inmates in the same mental ward."

"Point," Gabriella laughed.

Simon tightened his grip on her hand. "Gabriella, he didn't want it to happen this way."

"What?"

"Troy. He didn't want things to turn out this way. I know he didn't. I don't think he planned on getting shot."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically. "Because I sure as hell planned on Troy getting shot."

"No you didn't."

"No. I didn't," she agreed in a soft voice. "That was the last thing I wanted. Do you really think he'll be okay?"

He nodded. "Yes. I do. He's dealing with his guilt. He's going to be fine. Are you?"

"Me, Simon? I'm going to be just fine. Don't tell me you've been worrying about me."

"I think about you all the time. Whether I worry? Well, that's a different story altogether."

"You're disgusting."

"Cut me a little slack. I'm Troy's partner.'

"Point," she agreed again.

Simon eyeballed her, hesitating before he spoke. "A few months before the Mazio operation started, Troy was going out with this woman. Beth…Bell…Izzie…Isabel! That was her name. He'd been going out with her for about two weeks, and the two of us were staking out a drug lord. It was the middle of the night, it was freezing, the heater was broken, and we'd been living in the car for nearly three days and were almost ready to kill each other. I asked about Isabel, and he said that she was fine, but the relationship was going nowhere. So I asked him why all of his relationships failed. Because they did. I've been his partner for nearly three years, and he hasn't had a long-term relationship in all that time. His relationships have a shelf life of about a month, sometimes two, occasionally three if they're lucky."

"What did he say?" Gabriella asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"I didn't get it at the time, but he said his relationships always failed because a brown-eyed brunette always got in the way, only she didn't know it. It's probably honest thing he's told me about his heart."

There was a long silence. "I didn't want it turn out this way either. But it did, Simon, and I have to get some space and make sure that Sophie's okay."

"I know. It's not a judgment call. This is not Simon the interfering friend. It's just hard when I see you both. That's all."

"Thanks." Gabriella leant her head against Simon's shoulder. "Thank you for being such a good friend."

"My pleasure." Simon tenderly kissed her forehead, and smiled as Sophie jumped off the swing and headed towards them, the autumn sun lighting her hair a divine golden color.

* * *

AN: So you may hate me right now, but at least you know Troy is alive and Sophie is okay...And Gabriella's headed home...But I promised a happy Troyella ending and if you reveiw you'll still get one :) 


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews and I love that some of you are recognizing that all the previous details of the story (hmm, Wizard of Oz?) will come back at some point. Before you read this chapter I feel like I should warn you, the Mazios are going to be punished, like Simon said, even if they're a family, what they're doing is bad. Thats one of the reasons I spaced it out, so you would hopefully lose some of your affection and be more okay with this chapter. So here's the majority of the answers everyone wants, but I'm still holding out on the happy ending. There's only one more chapter though, so it's on its way... read and review :)

Disclaimer: Not Mine

Wherever You Are: Chapter 18

To: SAC Charles Norton  
File No: JX78821439B  
File Name: Mazio Operation  
Date: 9/5  
Status: Final Investigations  
Re: Final report

Christof Mazio has been charged with many minor crimes, including extortion, racketeering, money laundering and falsifying documents amongst other federal crimes. Much of the information about his businesses cannot be refuted and his lawyers are conceding on those charges for which he will serve perhaps a total of five years in a federal penitentiary.

All the charges of murder have been dropped, due to the fact that it could not be proven that Mazio himself had killed anybody. It is unlikely that Mazio will be able to return to his home or to his businesses. The FBI has him under close surveillance, and will continue to watch him.

Petro Mazio, Al Mazio and Roberto Mazio will all serve time.

Petro Mazio, second in command will serve seventeen years, Al Mazio only four and Roberto Mazio fourteen. Most of the charges against these three were plea-bargained down and thus, their punishment does remain light in the face of what they did at Christof Mazio's request.

Only physical evidence was used as testimony against all three men, and no witness testimony was necessary. All three offered no information to this department or the Boston PD about Christof Mazio. Although they were brutally and repeatedly interviewed they refused to trade information for immunity. All will serve their time in maximum-security state prisons, and have been isolated from one another by the FBI.

This department, in order to fit parts of the case together, interviewed Dr. Andrea Hunt – nee Andretti – at the Pacific Center in San Francisco, California. Laura Mazio was indeed admitted against her will by her husband her father-in-law. According to Dr. Hunt, Laura was placed in a Center so far away, because Christof and Petro Mazio didn't want anybody finding out what had happened. As a patient under Dr. Hunt's care, Laura revealed that she thought her husband Petro Mazio had murdered her lover Nicolo after he found out about the affair. Patient-doctor privilege was legally rescinded at the time of Laura Mazio's death, under federal law and Californian law, but Dr. Hunt did not step forward, for fear of being killed.

Tony Mazio is actually Detective Peter James Sanderson, an undercover police officer with the Boston Police Department's Vice Squad. In order to carry out the Boston PD's investigations into the Mazio family, Sanderson infiltrated Mazio's set-up ten years ago in a long-term undercover placement designed to gather extensive evidence for State charges. Sanderson married into the Mazio family – Marissa Helen Mazio, his wife, was Daniella Mazio's niece – and Sanderson had three children with Marissa. He assumed their surname when he married. At the time that Sanderson entered the Mazio family the FBI wasn't running an official investigation into the Mazio family. Since the Mazios were taken into custody, the FBI and the BPD have worked in conjunction and exchanged information leading to the prosecution of members of the Mazio family under state and federal law.

This long-term operation seems to have a number of effects on Sanderson, who has resigned from the force without any commendation for fear of being hunted by the Mazio family. He now runs a bookstore in Charleston, South Carolina, with his two sons, Michael and Benito, and his daughter Allegra. He is under the FBI Witness Protection Program, and he and his children will be closely monitored. He was interviewed by this department and revealed that his wife Marissa actually knew who Sanderson was – her parents had been killed by Christof Mazio, and she helped Sanderson with his investigations before she died giving birth to Allegra. All charges filed by the Police Department have been proven and their investigation has now been officially wrapped up.

Daniella Mazio, nee Andretti has been strenuously interviewed but has revealed nothing, claiming her husband never told her anything regarding his business. She is currently living in the Mazio household with her niece Isabel Mazio, Al's sister, who also denies any knowledge of Christof Mazio's business, and has refused to co-operate with the FBI. Both women are under visual and telephone surveillance by the undercover department, but it is highly unlikely that this will reveal anything pertinent to the investigation. Both women continue to regularly visit Christof, Al, Roberto and Petro Mazio in prison, and although this department has recorded these visits, they have revealed nothing other then personal information.

Lt. Sanderson killed Elvis Mazio – Christof's nephew – before the arrests took place, as he posed imminent threat and danger to Gabriella Montez, another member of the household, and also to myself. The Boston PD and this department investigated the death and declared it committed in self-defense. The autopsy concludes that Sanderson shot Elvis Mazio at close-range, and ballistics testing proves that Elvis Mazio did fire at Gabriella Montez and myself. Elvis Mazio was buried in a full-scale ceremony a few days after his death, where all members of the family were allowed to attend. There was very little communication between the Mazios, who were kept apart from each other for the obvious reasons. It is interesting to note that the Del Torio clan made an appearance at the funeral.

Gabriella Montez, once pregnant to Carlos Mazio – Christof Mazio's son – knows nothing about the business, though she has been interviewed closely about her time in the Mazio household. Although helpful on the day to day running of the household, and some dates and times that needed to be verified for the case, most of her testimony is worthless, as she truly does appear to be unaware of the dealings going on around her. Her testimony, as well, would be overshadowed by her relationship with the Mazios, and would probably be rather inconsequential to any prosecution. She left Boston soon after the FBI finished with her, and is currently living in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She is working for a medium-sized legal firm, and has made very little contact with the Mazios, although she did visit all the men in prison before she left for New Mexico.

Sophia Mazio – Petro and Laura Mazio's daughter – although only four years old, and not interviewed by this department, remains a valuable member of the investigation. She corroborated vital evidence that Elvis Mazio had a "big gun". She was set free by Elvis and she went straight to tell Lt. Sanderson then known as Tony Mazio. With her father in prison and her mother recently deceased, Sophia Mazio is living with Gabriella in Albuquerque, who has legally adopted her.

She has had no contact with the Mazio family – and all the members of the Mazio family have not tried to make contact themselves.

* * *

Special Agent Troy Bolton.  
To: SAC Charles Norton  
12th of September

Dear Sir,

It is with extreme reluctance and sorrow that I hand in my formal resignation and request the termination of my employment. It has been an honor to work in the Federal Bureau of Investigations, and my time spent in the Bureau has been challenging, fulfilling and always enjoyable.

After being shot, I was admitted to Boston General, where I underwent surgery to re-inflate and repair my lung, and I spent three weeks in the ICU. I spent further two weeks on the recovery ward and have undergone extensive physical therapy over the last five months. There has been no loss of use in my shoulder as tissue and muscle regeneration has remained uncomplicated, and I no longer have any respiratory problems.

However, I have completed no long-term missions since the Mazio operation. This is partly due to the fact that myself and my partner Agent Rawlings have been busy tying up the loose ends of the case, but it is also due to the fact that I have refused the three missions that have been offered to me. The aftermath of this case has led me to discover that I am no longer suited for this job, and do not wish to continue in the undercover unit. My morals and ethics were sorely tested in the Mazio operation, and I feel that I am not a valuable or willing member of the team and am, therefore, a liability. Furthermore, I no longer wish to serve the FBI in any other facet.

The details of the Mazio operation – official and unofficial – are well-known. I do not intend to use my personal feelings or relationships as an excuse for my unprofessional behavior during the operations. I lost my judgment and paid the consequences.

I have been accepted at New Mexico State University, where I plan to complete my law degree. I entered the Bureau after I could no longer afford to remain at college, and now, having the financial aid necessary to finish college, I plan to do so. It has always been my desire to be a lawyer, and I am certain that the skills gained whilst in the Bureau will be invaluable to me as an attorney.

Fall semester begins in two weeks, and I apologize for such short notice, though I will work right up until the day before college begins. As I understand it, all the formalities of turning in my gun and badge, and being debriefed can be completed by that date.

I have, over my years of employment, written many scientific and fact-based reports. I do not intend to change my method here, but I do feel bound to say that I pretended for far too long that my feelings didn't have anything to do with my job. That my heart didn't matter. But a very clever, four-year-old girl once said, "Everyone has a heart, you silly. Or we'd be dead."

I stood too close to death. I watched it pause, consider me and finally move on. And now I intend to live.

Please find attached my form of resignation and attendant financial details. On a personal note, I would simply like to add that it has been an honor and a privilege to work for Special Agent in Charge, Charles Norton, and with my partner, Special Agent Simon Rawlings.

Yours sincerely,  
Special Agent Troy Bolton


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own HSM.

Wherever You Are: Chapter 19

It was the end of January, and the frost was beginning to disappear. Slowly melting away, revealing new green spring growth beneath. Troy had buried his father almost a month ago from a heart attack, but he was still on leave of consideration, and found himself staying in the family home with nothing else to do. His other family had long since left home, each of them returning for his father's funeral and going back to their homes just as quickly.

Troy found himself going for walks around Albuquerque, down the tree-lined streets, past the picture-perfect houses, with the big friendly dog, the children playing in the front yard, the mother calling from inside and the father working in the garage. He watched the way other people – other families – lived and wondered how it was he'd missed out on all of that.

It occurred to him after a few days that he should leave, go back to college, fulfill his dreams and become a lawyer, but he continued to walk, looking at the trappings of a life he'd never realized he desired until he'd almost had it. The reason that most people never became undercover agents was because living an illusion long enough turned it into reality. Troy had seen some agents who had become so involved in their undercover role that they couldn't separate their reality from the illusion they'd been living.

The illusion he'd lived in the Mazio house was something Troy had always wanted. A large family, a big house, laughter, and a closeness he'd never experienced within in his own family. He'd even, in a way, had a daughter in Sophie and a partner in Gabriella.

Troy did a lot of thinking, something he'd avoided doing for months and months now, throwing himself into college, work, life at school, all of it methods of avoidance.

He chopped wood, painted the house, fixed up the broken cupboards and the unhinged doors, washed the curtains, cleaned the windows, re-tiled the bathroom floor, and even tried his hand at making a new coffee table with the materials lying around in the garage. He searched through the house and found old things from his childhood, stored in boxes that surprisingly, his father had kept. He went to bed late, and slept late; he watched mindless television, went running every morning, ate when he felt like it, and read a pile of books he'd been stacking up for ages. At the end of the month, he realized how much time had passed, and knew that he would have to leave in a few days.

The next morning, he was stacking up firewood he'd just chopped, that he wouldn't use. Methodically, he placed the logs on top of one another, carefully balancing the odd shapes, breathing patches of mist, rugged up in his coat, wishing he hadn't left his scarf and gloves inside. It was only eight in the morning and it wouldn't warm up until after lunch. His neighbor's children were running around the car to keep warm whilst they waited for their mother to finish drying her hair and take them to school.

"Hey, Mr. Sir," called the little girl over the fence. She was nearly four, and everyday she watched her older brothers go off to school with a sour expression on her face. "Mr. Troy, right?"

"That's right, Angela," he smiled and waved as her eldest brother crept up behind her and shoved grey, melting snow down the back of her coat.

"Hey!" she squealed, twisting around to see her brother dancing away from her. "You're dead, Hugh." Hugh ran away laughing, and Angela knowing she couldn't catch him, slumped back against the fence and tried not to cry.

Troy put down his axe and walked over to the fence. "Angie," he said softly, and she looked up at him, eyes bright blue with cold and tears.

"It's not fair," she wailed.

He bent down to eye-level. "Turn around," he instructed.

Carefully, he pulled her coat off, wiped the snow off and helped her back into it. He turned her around to face him. He brushed her hair back from her face and straightened her matching red scarf.

Angie was still pouting. "I can never hurt Hugh or Drew, 'coz they're so much bigger than me."

"I know it's not fair." Troy touched her red nose with a cold finger. "But I'll tell you a secret."

"Okay!" Angela leant closer, touching his nose with her finger.

"One day, your brothers are going to love you to death. One day, they're going to love you so much that they'll do silly things just to protect you and look after you and make sure you're okay."

"Really?" Her eyes grew wide.

"Really. But for now, here's a better secret. Boys hate it if you kick them here," Troy pointed. "It really hurts. Hugh's just standing there. I bet you could go over there right now and get him with your knee."

Angie's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure, sweetheart." He twisted her around gently. "Go on. Stand up for yourself. He might be your brother, but that doesn't mean he can get away with hurting you."

"Thanks Mr. Troy."

"No problem, Angie."

He remained bent by the fence, only his eyes and forehead visible, as Angie walked over towards Hugh as contritely as she could.

"Hugh?" she asked in a little voice.

"Yes?" her brother replied in an imperious tone of voice. "What do you want?"

Angie looked up at him with innocent blue eyes, and with the speed, precision and style of an alley fighter, lifted her leg and kneed him squarely in the balls.

"Ow!" Hugh cried, hand immediately covering for his groin, and Angie jumped up and down clapping her hand. "That hurts Angie."

"Just 'coz you're my brother, don't think you can beat me up," she yelled, throwing a warning glance in Drew's direction. Then she turned back around to Troy. "You were right," she yelled, face alight.

Their mother came bounding out the door, and told Hugh to stop being silly, that Angie couldn't possibly have hurt him that badly because she was only little and that she didn't want to listen to his complaining anymore. Troy laughed quietly to himself and stood as they drove off, wincing a little as he rotated his shoulder to get it mobile.

The bullet that he'd been shot with had collapsed one of his lungs, and Troy had spent three weeks in critical condition, on a respirator that breathed for him. He'd spent a further two weeks in hospital after that, recovering and avoiding thinking about the whole thing. It still ached to breathe when he exercised too strenuously, but he'd been reassured by the doctors that everything would grow back to normal after time. He found that his running had helped: his lung hurt less and less these days and he was getting back into shape. Troy went back to chopping and stacking wood.

So engrossed, Troy heard nothing and saw nothing. Focused completely on his task, he immediately reached for his gun when he heard the person beside him. Realizing his gun was inside, still in his suitcase, he gripped a log in his hand.

"It's me," said a soft voice.

Troy turned around. "Hello."

Gabriella was standing there, in a red jacket, wild brown hair, peaked white skin, alarmingly bright brown eyes and an unreadable expression on her face.

"Hi," she answered. "I'm sorry about your father."

He shrugged. "C'est la vie."

"Doesn't make it any easier," Gabriella pointed out, the wind blowing strands of her hair across her face. "Losing a parent is always hard."

"Proves that nobody is immortal. Who told you?'

"A little bird."

"Simon's grown wings?" he asked.

She titled her head. "We could dance around the subject for at least another two hours, but I'm cold, and I don't have a lot of time."

Troy put his log down. "Where's Sophie?"

"Staying with a friend overnight. I promised I'd be back some time tomorrow afternoon."

He moved towards the house, not looking to see if Gabriella was following or not. He wiped the snow off his shoes before stepping inside. Gabriella was following very closely behind him; her familiar scent entered the house at the same time she did.

"Can I take your coat?" he offered politely, trying to distract himself.

"Sure." Gabriella turned, and he pulled the red coat off her shoulders, narrowly resisting the urge to kiss her long swan-like neck. "Thank you."

Troy hung it on a peg, beside his heavy brown coat.

"You look good," he told her.

"Don't lie," she fired back. "I look tired, rundown and stressed."

"Then your clothes look good."

Gabriella looked down at her black-knit dress. "I suppose." She shrugged evasively. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

"Some coffee would warm you up," he commented, having no reply to her previous statement.

"You offering a cup?"

"I suppose." He smiled, though he wasn't sure why. Gabriella's answering smile wasn't her usual radiant beam, but it was a smile nonetheless and Troy didn't think he had the right to ask for anything more.

"I heard you've gone back to college," she said.

No doubt another piece of information imparted by Simon. "And I heard you're living right outside of Albuqerque."

"No doubt that information came from your exhaustless avenues of information as an FBI agent."

Troy shook his head. "No. Those avenues aren't open to me anymore. We've both been visited by the same bird."

"I see. I'm planning to move back here," Gabriella said in a nonchalant voice. "Mom's going to move house, so I'm moving back home, to our old house."

"Is that a wise decision?" Troy's voice inferred the dangers of moving back to the only address the Mazio's had of Gabriella's.

"I really don't care," the brunette returned. "I'm tired of making wise decisions. I want to move home. I want Sophie to grow up in Albuquerque, in my house, have a balcony and all that jazz."

He nodded and pulled the coffee cups out of a cupboard. "Your back on speaking terms with everyone again, huh?"

"Yeah we are. I rang her and told her what had happened. It was all over the news, so she figured it out anyway. I asked if I could see her and she said yes. Sophie got along with everyone like a house on fire, so everything seems settled."

"How is Sophie?" he asked quietly.

"She's good. She misses you terribly. Not a day goes by when she doesn't ask after you."

"No. She asks after Tommy," he corrected.

"No," Gabriella disputed. "She asks after Troy. I told her who you were. She didn't understand that you were an FBI agent, but she understands that your name is really Troy. She wants to know when you're coming home."

Troy let that one slide, but felt the ache in his side that he'd felt ever since leaving Sophie behind. He missed her so much it hurt him sometimes, a physical, jarring, ripping pain that froze him when he saw strawberry blonde hair, heard the name Sophie or listened to the piping voice of a four-year-old girl. He'd never planned to get so attached, and he certainly hadn't thought he had paternal instincts, but most mornings, he woke up thinking of her.

And Gabriella.

"I miss her too," he said with a wistful, gentle smile. "Would you tell her that for me?"

"Sure. We got Sophie's birthday present, in October. Thank you. She was rapt – she took the Sparkle and Shine Barbie to kindergarten and told everybody that her Daddy gave it to her." Troy raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

Gabriella continued. "My favorite were the pink shoes. I wondered where you got them...they matched the pink dress perfectly."

"There's a store in Washington; they specialize in eclectic shoes and clothing. I was the only man in there, but when the shop assistant asked, I told her I was buying a birthday present for my daughter."

She smiled. "Well, they are definitely hot pink."

"I would have sent the bike, but it was too big, and I thought the ice-cream cake might melt," Troy informed her.

"Well, I bought her the bike, and I got an ice-cream cake with the ballerina and Sophia written in big, pink letters."

"Even apart we work well together, huh?"

"I don't know, Troy, I think we work better together."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "You've enrolled her for first-grade in the fall at East Elementary, then?" he asked her.

Gabriella nodded. "Yep. Sophie will be going to East Albuquerque Elementary like…well, like her Daddy before her."

Troy frowned. "I don't know where she got this Daddy thing from."

"Neither do I," the brunette admitted, "But I can't say I've been stopping it."

Troy didn't have a reply for that, so he filled the kettle up and put it on to boil. "I couldn't sleep for a very long time," he told her quietly. "I promise it'll pass," he assured her.

Gabriella seemed to be hesitating, but she finally spoke up. "You didn't come and see me," she stated, obviously voicing what she'd come here to say.

"I was in hospital," he pointed out. "On a respirator."

"But you got out of hospital five weeks later. I made Simon tell me. He didn't want to but after I assured him that I knew nothing about what the Mazios did, he told me. You didn't visit me after you got out."

"I couldn't," he informed her softly. "I wasn't allowed to. You were part of ongoing investigation. I wasn't allowed to visit anybody involved with the case, and when the case was wrapped up…" he trailed away. "I just didn't know how to come and see you."

"I wanted you to come," Gabriella told him in a simple voice, making his heart jump a little.

Troy looked up at her, ignoring what she'd said for now, wanting to pursue something before it slipped away from him. "You knew, didn't you? You knew what the Mazios did. You never were stupid."

"Of course I did," she confirmed. "Nobody could live in that house and not know, Troy. I'm a lawyer, for God's sake. I worked it out straightway, but nobody actually told me outright, so we all pretended that I didn't know. That I was the only innocent person in a guilty family. That I wasn't tainted."

"You didn't tell anybody you knew."

"I couldn't do it. We all make choices, and the Mazios had been my family. They'd loved me, and supported me, and I'd lived amongst them. I couldn't betray that trust." She looked down at her coffee. "I went to visit Petro. He didn't know who you were. You didn't testify at the trial?"

"I didn't have to," Troy informed her. "The State decided I'd turned over enough physical evidence to make the case, and that along with the tapes meant I didn't need to testify."

"Ah. The tapes."

"About that…"

She shook her head. "No apology necessary."

"Yeah, I do need to make an apology. You see…when you…well, for want of a better word, shoved me up against the closet and made me sleep with you, I kind of forgot about the wire."

"I always knew I'd send you out of your mind one day." Gabriella's smile was a little stronger.

"Yeah well."

"Would you have?" Gabriella was looking at him again with those bewitching green eyes. "Testified, that is?"

"Probably," he said honestly. "It was my job. I would have hated it. I would have felt guilty every day of my life. I still expect to wake up to the smell of frying bacon, or pasta sauce or the sound of Michael's off-key singing. I miss the house, and the people, I miss the atmosphere." He shrugged. "There's still a part of me that feels very guilty."

"Don't. I don't feel guilty."

"You didn't sell them out," Troy pointed out.

"But I'm not supporting them right now, am I? I sold them out in a different way Troy. I left them behind."

"I suppose."

Gabriella watched him spoon the coffee into the cups. "We both made the choices that we knew were right. And that's all we'll ever be able to say about the Mazios. We loved them, but when it came down to it, we made the choices that were right for us. That's about as much closure as you and I will ever get."

"One day," Troy said softly, "We'll think about it, and I suppose it won't hurt anymore."

Gabriella let out a deep breath. "One day we'll think about it, and realize that it hasn't hurt for a long time."

They seemed to have exhausted that topic of conversation. Troy had actually made his peace with his morals a long time ago, and though closure might not have been complete, the burden of his guilt had started to ease.

"How many years of college do you have left?" Gabriella asked, after a few minutes of silence.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I only left in my final year Gabriella. Did you think I was complete dropout?"

"No," she said hurriedly, "I just…" she trailed away and shrugged.

The kettle screeched, telling him the water was boiled. "I've got one semester left. I got credit for all the others from the University of Virginia."

"So you'll be finished by the summer?"

"I will," Troy confirmed, and turned the kettle off. He didn't have to ask how Gabriella took her coffee. He knew. Just like he knew what her favorite color was, and what her favorite flower was, how kissing the inside of her wrist made her feel, and the thousands of other things he knew about her.

"We have really shitty timing, don't we?" Her voice was wry.

"We must have brought bad timing to all time high."

"Or low," she added. "Depending on how you look at it."

"I kept thinking that one day we'll get it right," he told her. "That one day it will be our time. There won't be obstacles like the Mazios, and the FBI, and college and going away."

"One day," she repeated.

"But," he continued, "I did some more thinking, and I realized that there never is a right day. There never will be. We have to make it the right day. We have to get past those obstacles if we really want to be together."

Her brown eyes glimmered as he handed Gabriella her coffee. She tilted her head. "There aren't any obstacles now."

"Yes there are," Troy disagreed, not elaborating.

"You want to know if I forgive you," Gabriella deduced. Silence fell between them. "I forgave you a very long time ago Troy – before you got shot. I think I knew you were leaving again. It was too much of a goodbye, not a hello."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry for doing it again. I'm sorry for not apologizing earlier."

"You apologized before you passed out. I was…I was so scared," she whispered. "You don't remember, but you said sorry to me. And you saved me too. You did pretty well that day."

He didn't smile. "What you said…before Elvis shot at us…before he shot me," his blue eyes caught hers. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," Gabriella told him without hesitation. "I meant it.'

"Why?"

"Why did I mean it?" she asked with some confusion.

"No. Why do you love me?"

Her smile could almost have been self-depreciating. "There's no why. You love who you love; we don't get to make choices about these things."

"No I guess we don't," Troy agreed. He looked at his coffee. "I used to think it was an obsession."

The non-sequitur made her blink. "What was an obsession?"

"The way I felt about you," he explained. "I used to think that because we'd left things so up in the air all those years ago, that I'd never fully resolved things and that's why I thought about you all the time." She waited patiently. "It wasn't an obsession."

"Then what was it?" Gabriella prompted gently.

"Love." His voice was steady. "I've never been very good with love."

"Nobody is."

Troy watched Gabriella's long, dark lashes flickering, her smooth ivory skin, the beautiful nose, her long fingers, and the tiny freckles dotted across her nose, wondering if he would stop being amazed and confounded by this woman. If he would ever stop loving every part of her.

He started to speak again. "All of my relationships after I left Albuquerque – after I left you – failed. I didn't want to commit, and I thought that was the problem."

"Lack of commitment can screw a relationship up," Gabriella granted, almost not breathing for the anguish of waiting.

"It wasn't lack of commitment," he shook his head, his voice taking on a strong, determined quality. "I'm not scared of commitment at all. My heart just knew something long before my brain did. I only want to commit to you."

"You do?" Her voice wasn't steady at all.

"I love you," he smiled at saying the words, at the surge of courage in his veins. "And I want to be with you."

"I love you too." She continued immediately. "I'm moving in summer," she said, her eyes shining, reminding him all over again why he loved her, in case he'd forgotten in that second, in that breathless moment, hearing her say those words back to him.

"I finish in summer," he rejoined.

"And I was going to start my own practice, here in the heart of Albuquerque."

"So was I," Troy told her, his voice dropping low and sweet. "Isn't that a coincidence?'

Gabriella's smile made his heart lurch and sing; her voice was light and happy.

"And I have a queen-sized bed that's too big for just me. I get very lonely. Sophie misses you – she talks about you everyday. I hate getting rid of spiders, and I don't like putting the garbage out."

Troy walked slowly around the bench, until he stood up against her. "Gabriella."

"What?" Her lovely face was tilted up towards him and her arms circled about his waist without hesitation.

"I don't need any reasons." He pulled her closer to him. "If you'll have me, I'll come."

"Troy."

"What?"

She didn't say anything more; she just kissed him, carefully, deliberately, tentatively, wonderfully and with tenderness.

"That feels like a hello," he commented, his voice near her ear, vibrating through her body.

He kissed her this time, more sure of himself, his mouth undemanding but promising.

"Hello," she said with a smile. "I missed you."

"Hi yourself." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling how soft the brown mass was. "And I probably missed you more."

"Promise not to go anywhere?" Her voice wasn't desperate, but he heard the hesitation – the catch – in her tone.

"Well…I do need to go to my bedroom."

"You do?" Her eyes grew wide and her smile grew wider.

"Yes. But you get to come with me."

"That's good," she murmured, "Because I would have shot you otherwise."

* * *

AN: Happy enough? I didn't originally write an epilouge, but I could probably come up with a little something if everyone wanted to see Sophie again, with Troy and Gabi and a great big house, tied up in a red bow. If not, thank you so much for the lovely and kind reviews and my new story will be up shortly :) 


	20. Epilouge

Disclaimer: I wish I may...I wish I might...

Wherever You Are Epilogue

_One Year Later_

Listening to the shrieks of laughter as she climbed the steps and opened the front door, Gabriella dreaded what Troy and Sophie were doing now. If she thought Troy had taken care of Sophie before, he'd thrown himself into his duties as a father with a gusto that made Gabriella nervous. The two of them painted – the windows to be precise – they decorated Sophie's walls by pasting on pictures and painting a seascape, they wrote a book and illustrated it, or they cooked, completely dirtying up her kitchen. They talked in strange voices and giggled at the most ridiculous things.

But Sophie loved Troy and Troy loved Sophie and they were both so happy, and Gabriella was just so happy that it didn't really matter. And Troy was pretty responsible…most of the time. She stepped gratefully in from the cold, putting the bags down long enough to close the door and shrug her jacket off. She hung it between Troy's brown one and Sophie's cute green coat with a hood. Gabriella couldn't wait to get out of her pantyhose, heels and suit and into something comfortable. It was Friday and they'd planned to take Sophie ice-skating over the weekend.

"I'm home," she called.

After nearly seven months, the place really was looking like their home. Troy had left today's tie strewn over the back of one of the stools, which he'd make himself. Their books were muddled together in the bookcase, Sophie's toys were strewn across their unmade bed, and the bills came in both their names.

Perhaps those weren't the real signs of living together. Maybe there were other signs: the three of them had done the message on the answering machine, and they'd had Christmas at their house, with Taylor and Chad and Sharpay and Ryan. Troy complained when she used his razor to shave her legs and consequently blunted the blades, she whined about him leaving the toilet seat up.

And just the other day, Troy had been putting a sleepy Sophie to bed, and she'd called them Mom and Dad. There had been an odd, swelling, aching, but joyous feeling that had spread through her stomach, and she knew Troy had felt it too; he'd tucked his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her head, and breathing in time with her, not saying a word. Not needing to.

It had occurred to Gabriella right there and then that although it was completely against her entire belief-system, she maybe just possibly be happy.

It was January. Troy had gone to collect Sophie from day-care straight after work whilst Gabriella had gone shopping at the supermarket.

"Hello!" She tried again. There was no reply; not even Sophie's shrieking laughter could be heard anymore. Troy must have come up with an amazingly engrossing game for the excitable six-year-old Sophie to be quiet for a whole five minutes.

"Where is everybody?" she muttered, heading towards the kitchen with the shopping. She put the bags on the bench, along with the car keys and went into the living room, where Troy and Sophie could usually be found making mischief.

"Surprise!" yelled two voices the second she walked through the door. Completely startled, she froze, her hands going to her chest.

"Don't DO that," she said, smiling and breathing again at the same time. "I nearly had a heart attack. And what surprise?"

Sophie, balanced on Troy's hip wore a secretive grin, and Gabriella knew that something was up. Troy's face didn't give as much away, but he too looked like he was bursting to tell her something.

"Well…" Troy grinned, "Maybe I should drag it out a little longer to create tension and anticipation."

"I could create a few bruises and some broken ribs too," Gabriella threatened, walking towards them, until she was standing close enough to feel Troy and Sophie breathing.

"Don't be mean to Da – Troy," Sophie told him.

"Okay, okay," Troy said in surrender. "Sophie, honey, if you'd like to do the honors."

From the pocket in Troy's jacket, Sophie pulled a box. With clumsy fingers, and twinkling eyes she opened it up. Sitting on the white velvet bed was a ring with an upraised diamond, surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds.

"I…" she was absolutely speechless. Of all the surprises she had imagined, this was definitely not one of them.

"Say yes!" Sophie cried. "Go on. Yes…you spell it Y-E-S."

"I know how to spell it, sweetheart," Gabriella said faintly. "Is that…I mean are you really asking…"

"No," he shook his head.

"Then…what…"

"We're asking you to marry us. Aren't we?" Troy looked at Sophie, who nodded. "Say yes. We love you," he added. He kissed Gabriella softly. "I love you. It's the next logical step."

"Logic…that's hardly romantic," she admonished.

"What would you like?" he asked. "A declaration of undying love? A long speech about fate and monogamy and the cosmological rightness of being with you because I forsake all others in your name, even though that makes absolutely no sense. Would you like me to get down on my knees? Or perhaps a singing telegram would be more to your liking?"

She smiled. "No. But I would like something."

"Of course you would," he granted. "So here goes: In all the uncertainty that is life, I would like to grow old with you and die before you so that I will never have to live another day of my life without you."

"I…romanticism suits you…" she finally managed.

"I want a singing telegram!" Sophie chimed in. "And did you say yes?'

"How remiss of me," Gabriella realized. "Yes. You had me at surprise."

"I'm offended!" Troy exclaimed. "I'm so much better looking then Tom Cruise."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. Are you going to put the ring on my finger?"

"If you insist," he said with mock-annoyance. "Soph," he directed at the little girl, "Can you pull it out of the box?" Sophie did so, handing it carefully to Troy, who balanced the strawberry blonde with one arm and slipped the ring onto Gabriella's finger, kissing her hand.

"This is so unconventional," Gabriella commented, giving him a stirring kiss of her own and admiring the ring.

"But where's the fun in being conventional?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I," he told her laughing. "Who gets to know first?"

"Grandma," Sophie suggested. "Or Aunt Taylor?"

"Who cares?" Gabriella asked. She kissed Sophie, then Troy. "I never did believe in the institution of marriage."

Troy's face dropped. "You don't think that I just asked you to marry me did you?" She nodded slowly. "Oh God. No! No, no, no. I just asked you to be a human sacrifice for Satan."

"Troy?"

"Yes darling?" he smirked.

"Bite me!"

"If you insist."

"Kiss her," Sophie instructed Troy, who kissed Gabriella until her knees were weak, until he toes curled up, until she nearly forgot her own name and how to breathe. "Now that," the little girl declared, "Is a kiss.'

"Thank you Sophie," Troy smiled.

"That's okay."

Then Troy circled an arm around Gabriella's waist and balancing Sophie, he danced them around in a circle, until Sophie's shrieks, Gabriella's mellow peals and Troy's joyous laughter echoed around the house and out into the cold January evening.

* * *

AN: Well this really is the end, to every person that read and enjoyed it- thank you. To those of you that reviewed I appreciate it more than you know and I hope you all want to read my next story... it's coming soon. And maybe one day, I'll want a sequel, but I kind of love Troy, Gabriella, and Sophie dancing in a circle and think it's a pretty great place for them to be.


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